Bereaved
by nicayal
Summary: One year after his boyfriend's death, Axel is convinced he's starting to lose it. Roxas is everywhere, but no one's seeing him except Axel. Is Axel beginning to lose touch with reality? Or does love truly find a way to make exceptions? AkuRoku
1. Prologue: Fair of Face

**Author's Note**: This was originally written as a submission for a deviantart Halloween contest back in 2011 (hence the dates at the top of each chapter). I limited myself to 500 words and that was supposed to be it for this idea. Instead, it blossomed into a full-out novella of 40K-ish words. Because that's apparently just how I roll. No one beta read the vast majority of this, so please excuse any errors (I did several revisions, so it should be relatively solid in that regard). I'll also try to keep the author notes succinct (exception: the epilogue).

**Reviews**: I love them, particularly for this fic, as it's the one nearest and dearest to my heart at present. If you enjoyed reading this story, please let me know. Who knows? It might just encourage me to write others.

**Rating**: Overall, M for mature themes, including but not limited to sexual situations and memories of suicide, self-injury and sexual abuse. Not that every chapter will have this content in it, but expect it to increase as the story moves along. If you are not of legal age to be reading content like this in your country of residence, go find another, more legal hobby (not that I can stop you, but...).

**Credit**: Days of the weeks lyrics are from a fortune-telling song entitled "Monday's Child," author unknown. I shamelessly reworked them for the epilogue chapter. I lay no claim or ownership right to the Square Enix and Disney Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy games, or their respective characters. I'm only using their names and likeness for enjoyment, not financial gain.

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><p><strong>Monday, October 31, 2011<strong>

_Monday's child is fair of face..._

He couldn't say why he'd been so willing to go home with someone he didn't know.

More accurately, Axel didn't want to acknowledge it.

He hated Halloween and everything this day entailed. He hated the memories. He hated himself for remembering.

The sex had been rough, impersonal, and by the time they had finished, Axel was spent in both the physical and emotional sense.

He'd left the older man sleeping, uninterested in the prospect of conversation or commitment come sunrise.

The night air was brisk, yet people were still out celebrating. For a moment, Axel just watched, willing himself to become numb, yet enjoying the bite of a chill breeze against his exposed face and neck.

The right side of his neck. A flash of spiked blond hair.

If he'd stopped to think about it, he'd remember the other man's groping hands and the way he bit with rough abandon at his neck, his stomach, his thighs. Axel wasn't that far gone on the scotch, the vodka, the tequila not to recall.

The thoughts were pushed aside as Axel caught a glimpse of blond in the distance, looking back at him with wide, blue eyes.

He was dressed like a vampire, a tailored suit and cape attached.

Plastic fangs probably completed the look, although Axel couldn't see from this distance.

The boy's name caught in his throat.

He found himself stumbling, clumsily, toward the crowd. _Roxas_. The name was like a mantra, calm and soothing in his mind.

_Roxas. Roxas, Roxas._

It took a moment for Axel to realize that the familiar voice in his mind wasn't his own. And by the time he arrived at the spot at Town Square's center, the blond was gone.

He was losing it, and tonight of all nights. Axel's expression hardened, and he turned heel to go. From the dim light of a nearby tavern, a few women called out to him, their voices teasing, welcoming.

All he could think of was Roxas, the bathroom, the blood.

His dreams were fitful that night. Although he didn't wake from them, Axel tossed and turned. He even saw Roxas before him, still in costume, confident and carefree in death as he never had been in life.

And his features remained beautiful as ever.

"I miss you," he'd cried out once, but Roxas had merely smiled, his eyeteeth glinting from the nearby light of a streetlamp, and an index finger placed playfully over his lips. "Shh," the blond whispered. "Soon now. Soon."

His kiss had been tender, a stark contrast to Axel's earlier foray. It had dropped from lips, to jaw, to neck. That was where it lingered, Roxas' breath cool against Axel's feverish skin.

A sudden pain had awakened him, shot him straight up into sitting position in his bed, hand clasping his burning neck.

_A dream_, Axel had consoled himself. _It was only a dream_.

But his fingers were covered in blood, and it didn't take long to locate the two even punctures on the left side of his throat.


	2. Chapter 1: Full of Grace

**Tuesday November 1, 2011**

_Tuesday's child is full of grace…_

The alarm woke him with a jolt, and Axel opened his eyes to his sunlit room. A second later they were shut tightly again, as pain after throbbing pain assaulted his temples.

Fuck, did he have a hangover. He was probably late for class, too.

The events of the night before came back to him in a flash, and Axel sat upright, maybe a little quicker than he should have. Another stab of pain hit the sides of his head right above his ears, and he swore into the empty space of his room.

Slowly, sluggishly he slid out of bed and half blindly reached for a clean pair of boxers, then jeans and a t-shirt. He was only feeling slightly better by the time he encountered the mirror in the bathroom. He stood in front of it blinking, a little dumbstruck at the sight.

He looked like shit. There was no kind way around it. His skin was paler than it usually was, giving him a sickly complexion. Hair was a tangled mess of snarls.

And his neck. His neck was a blossom of blues and purples from the older man and the night before. He stared at it for a moment, before turning his gaze almost hopefully to the left side of his neck. Was that…? No. Yes? Maybe.

He leaned in closer to the mirror to inspect himself further, found he couldn't tell if there actually were two dots on the space where the hollow of his neck connected with the base of his throat. He turned, trying to angle the light in a favorable way. Still hard to tell.

Through bloodshot eyes, Axel shook his head. He was already late for his first class and didn't have time let dreams borne of alcohol and tortured memories fuck around with him right now. Raking a brush through his hair, he drew it back into a tight ponytail, threw on a sweatshirt, letting its hood cover the bruising on his neck, and made his way out the door.

There was no hope of making his first class, so Axel spent his morning on more productive endeavors. Trying to cut the intense pain at his temples, he headed toward a coffee shop near campus and ordered the darkest blend they had brewing. Taking a long swig as he exited the shop, Axel's lips curved out in a disgusted grimace.

He'd never liked coffee all that much, but it did happen to be effective in alleviating headaches from self-induced hangovers.

His breath misted in front of him as he walked, and for the first time this morning Axel realized just how chilly it was getting. October had been a mixture of the last remnants of an indian summer, cooler breezes and crunching leaves. November, it seemed, would start off harshly and probably only become more unforgiving as December approached.

The campus green was largely empty, most students opting to retreat to warmer study spaces during this time of the year. That was fine by Axel. He didn't particularly want to be disturbed anyway. And the cold reminded him of last night, of the way he'd felt when he saw that beautiful, innocent face…

Had it really been Roxas? Could that even be possible?

Axel bit his lip, closing his eyes into slits as he lowered himself onto the unoccupied bench adjacent to Morrill Hall. He needed to stop thinking about this like there was an alternate possibility to what had actually happened. Sure, it was probably natural to have these thoughts immediately after a tragedy had occurred. But a year later? Not really. He'd been shitfaced and grieving last night. Of course he had thought he'd seen something. Didn't mean it was reality.

Sliding his messenger bag off one shoulder, Axel retrieved the book for his Research Methods and Statistics class and stared blankly at the beginning of Chapter 7: Probability and Hypothesis Testing. This was not going to be fun. Plus, he had to keep reminding himself he had an appointment with the school's academic counseling office tomorrow. Time to face the music on that one. He should have declared a major last year as a junior, but he'd gotten off the hook after the incident on Halloween.

Incident. He hated how nondescript it sounded, how impersonal. Yet if he phrased it any other way, it'd expose him and tip others off as to how vulnerable thinking about it all still made him. It was easier to stare at his textbook, taking half-hearted notes as he went. It was what Roxas would've wanted, he figured.

The sound of crunching leaves were what gave him pause. A moment later, a light hand was on his shoulder. Axel looked up into a gentle expression.

"Morning," his friend said. Like everything else in his life, Zexion seemed to have planned out his greeting today. No 'good,' describing this morning, just a general acknowledgement that another day had indeed begun for them.

Axel nodded toward his friend. "Hey," he said, eyes dropping down almost immediately to the book in his lap, although he didn't continue reading.

Zexion sat down next to him. "How're things going? I tried to call yesterday but had to leave a message." His eyes seemed to trail from Axel's hooded face, along his jawline and to his neck. Axel turned away.

"Yeah, I was out for most of the night."

"I see."

A truer statement couldn't have been uttered, and as Zexion took a seat next to him, Axel cinched the hood over his head a little tighter, silently cursing his bad judgment from the night before. The next thing he knew, an arm wrapped gently around his waist, pulling him closer.

It reminded him of a different time, if not such a different place, when Roxas would embrace him in the middle of their study sessions. "What're you doing," he'd asked once. Roxas had just smiled, shifting to his knees so he could hug Axel tighter and plant an exuberant kiss on his boyfriend's cheek. "Loving you," had come the reply, simple and honest. _Loving you._

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you last night. My supervisor denied my request for the evening off." Zexion spoke in quiet tones, rubbing the small of Axel's back with sure fingers.

This was just about the last thing he wanted to talk about right now. Axel shrugged him off, closing his book with a definitive snap as he stood. "It's fine. You had to work," he said, shoving the textbook deep into his messenger bag as he slung it over his shoulder. _Besides, it's not like you're my boyfriend._

He longed to say it out loud, to widen the emotional space between the two of them a little further. But he knew it would've devastated his friend, and Zexion didn't deserve it. In fact, he'd been everything a good friend should've been after _it_ had happened. He'd stood by Axel throughout the year as one of the few people who'd simply let him grieve, never making comments implying enough time had passed for Axel to get beyond it.

What constituted enough time, after all? A week? A month? How about a year and one day? It was true that the pain of loss dulled over time, but did it ever really leave entirely? At this point in the whole process, Axel seriously doubted it. Roxas had been his first serious boyfriend, and he hadn't deserved the lot he'd been given in life, that was for damn sure. Roxas hadn't deserved to die either. No matter how many friends said it, no matter how many times the therapist he'd been assigned as a condition of him returning to school reminded him, Axel couldn't help but feel it was his fault. He could've done something - anything - more than he had. Then things would be different now.

"I've gotta go, Zex," he mumbled, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "I've just…I have to go."

Before his friend could protest, Axel was walking briskly away from the bench, bag over his shoulder and hands stuffed into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. Roxas had told him pretty much the same thing last year that Axel had just got done telling Zexion now, he realized the moment he was on his own again.

The trouble was, where Roxas had gone Axel couldn't follow.

~ o ~ o ~

Frozen pizza, a coke and a hot date with his Stats homework - Axel certainly wasn't living it up this Tuesday evening, and he knew it. He could've been studying with Zexion; his blue-haired friend had extended the offer, being in Advanced Statistics himself currently and apparently happy to help. But Axel had waved him off. Too soon. It was too soon after the night he'd just had. He preferred to be alone.

He'd seen the hurt in his friend's eyes, but there was nothing he could do about it when he was feeling like this. He knew Zexion was hoping for more than the occasional kiss or longing touch whenever Axel happened to let his guard down. It hadn't been a frequent occurrence of late. It felt like a betrayal though, to touch Zexion in the way he'd once touched Roxas, to even be thinking similar thoughts about his attraction to someone else. Fucking random strangers was one thing. It made him numb and meant absolutely nothing. Sleeping with Zexion would change everything though, because deep down Axel knew it'd be more than simple fucking.

He'd arrived home at dusk, answering machine blinking with three new messages. Despite the extra cost - completely worthless when he took his cell phone everywhere, in Axel's opinion - his mother had insisted he get a landline after he'd moved out of the dorms last year. Safer that way, she'd said, although he couldn't figure out why she'd believed that.

He threw his keys onto the small table next to the answering machine, dropped a few pieces of junk mail onto a chair nearby along with his jacket and schoolbag, before eyeing the blinking number three. Sighing, he clicked the thing on, setting it to play off the messages in reverse order from when they'd been received.

"Message one. Monday, October 31 at 6:22pm…" the automated female voice rang out. First silence. Then a hesitant clearing of a throat. "Um, Axel? Hi. I tried calling your cell, but there was no answer so I, uh, thought I'd check here, just to see how you're doing, you know…"

Zexion's voice. Axel pressed the delete button. He already knew what that message was about.

"Message two. Monday, October 31 at 7:03pm…"

"Axel, honey? It's your mom."

Axel groaned a bit, eyes raised skyward in exasperation. Well, no shit. Who the hell else called him "honey"? Not even Roxas had pulled that crap…usually. He made his way into the kitchen in a bit of a huff.

"I'm just calling to see if you need anything. I know this might be a tough day for you."

No shit. No shit, no shit, no shit it was. Unbidden, an image of a smiling Roxas invaded his mind, hair tousled and grin devious as he greeted Axel's arrival home from class with a bowl of cereal, filched from the dorm's basement cafeteria. "Hey, _honey_," he'd said in his best, high-pitched housewife voice. "How was work? I brought you dinnah!"

"I'm here if you need to talk to anyone, sweetheart, I hope you know that."

Biting his lip hard, Axel opened the freezer door and practically shoved his head in, muffling the remainder of his mother's message. Unseeing, he grabbed a frozen pizza, slammed the freezer door closed, and turned the oven on to preheat.

"Tuesday, November 1 at 4:06pm…"

Axel took a breath in, not sure he wanted to hear any more sympathy messages.

"Hey, shithead. It's me."

Blinking, Axel looked up, as though Demyx were in the room with him.

"Lots of fuckers are probably sending you sappy messages and I'm here to tell you that shit stops now. You're coming to the gym tomorrow if I have to haul your ass there myself. In case you're wallowing in self-pity or some shit, Saix and Reno can be called in as reinforcements."

Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of Axel's mouth. Leave it to Demyx…seriously.

"So yeah. You, me, some other dudes, tomorrow night at 7 at Mason's. If you're not there, we _will_ be over, even if we have to break your fucking door down, man."

The message ended with a definitive click, and just as quickly Axel felt the isolation of his current surroundings again. Now he knew what people meant when they bitched about silence being deafening.

Throwing the pizza into the oven, Axel made his way into the living room, grabbed the television remote, and clicked it on for background noise. Rummaging through his schoolbag, he dug out his Stats text and a few loose sheets of paper from one of his required senior seminars.

_Axi…_

Axel froze in place as a soft, lilting voice passed through his mind. That's what Roxas had called him, a silly little pet name he would've beat pretty much anyone down but his own boyfriend for daring to use.

Holding his breath, Axel strained to listen for the sound of the familiar voice again.

Nothing.

Two quick strides and he had snatched up the TV remote, shutting the television off. Then back to holding his breath.

_Please. Please, God. Anyone. Let me hear it again_, he silently begged. _I need to hear his voice again._

Straining to concentrate as hard as he could, Axel felt a trembling from deep within his chest.

_Please. Just one more time. Please._

His ears were met with the offensive beeping of the oven timer. Surprised, Axel lost his grip on the remote and it clattered to the living room floor.

"Jesus," he muttered as he bent to retrieve it, feeling absolutely ridiculous. There was only so much idiocy a little sleep deprivation could excuse.

Axel ate his pizza and put at least some effort into studying for awhile, although his heart wasn't in it. When was his heart ever in anything anymore? It wouldn't have felt so different not to have one at all the way he'd been feeling recently. At some point in the evening, he'd turned back on the television, keeping the volume low just for background noise as he took notes and read selections for his seminar. After dusk, the lamp went on and he went straight back to his readings.

And then he was nodding off, the lamp light blurring his vision as his eyelids drooped of their own accord, and before he knew it he was out cold on the sofa, textbook open on his lap and papers scattered on the floor around his feet. For once, his sleep was mercifully dreamless.

At least in the beginning.

~ o ~ o ~

Axel awoke abruptly in the dead of the night. For a moment, he just groaned, stretching his limbs and neck a little and mumbling incoherently to himself. He'd fallen asleep with his head thrown back, neck exposed, and now it ached like _hell_.

Opening his eyes, the room that met his vision was a lot darker than he'd left it. Disoriented, his eyes moved to the TV, which was still on but soundless, emitting only dimly colored black and white film footage. It was the lamp that was dark. Axel struggled to remember if he'd turned it off, but he didn't think he had. Maybe the bulb had burnt out.

A slight movement to his left caught his attention, and he turned, actions still sluggish from sleep. The silhouette of a young man met his gaze, spiked hair and eyes glinting in the dim light, watching him intently.

"Wha-!" Axel shot upright, his Stats book tumbling off his lap in the process. "Who are you? What are you doing in my…"

His voice died in his throat as his eyes started to adjust.

No. This couldn't be possible. There was just an intruder in his house. A small intruder who he could take. Or call the police on. Or something.

Except Axel didn't think he could stand, didn't know if he wanted to dig out his cell phone or reach for a makeshift weapon. He had to know, even if it ended up costing him a trip to the ER as a result of a home invasion gone wrong.

"…Roxas?"

Axel could've scrambled up. Hell, he could've even used his textbook as some sort of blunt weapon. His mind raced through the possibilities at a frantic pace.

He reached for the lamp switch instead.

Light burst through the room and an unearthly shriek invaded his head as the intruder curled into himself, hands scrambling to cover his eyes. A second later the lamp's bulb burst with an electric pop, and Axel was left breathless and trembling at one end of his sofa, eyes shut tightly.

The sound of that voice…it was still ringing in his head, but he didn't think it had been screamed aloud. It had an unearthly quality to it that echoed in his mind even several seconds after it had ended.

"No lights. Please no bright lights, Axi. It gives me a headache."

Now, _that_ voice. That sweet, low voice was definitely spoken out loud. Axel would've recognized it anywhere. He opened his eyes and stared through the dim light.

"Roxas," he asked again. "Is…is that really you?"

The blond smiled, his expression still mildly pained, and slid off the far end of the couch as he moved closer. "Maybe," he said with a bit of a shrug. "Or you could be dreaming."

That made the most sense, but Axel had never dreamt this vividly, if that's what it actually was. Now standing, the boy's features were illuminated by both a nearby streetlight and the TV screen directly behind him. Without a doubt, it was Roxas as Axel remembered him, with thick blond hair sticking up at random angles, bright blue eyes regarding him in an uninterpretable manner. The blond was wearing a strange, hooded black cloak. But it was Roxas, undeniably Roxas.

Axel felt his vision blur with tears. What was happening? How was this possible? He'd held Roxas in his arms last year before the medics had…

Only inches separated them now, and with an inquisitive expression on his face the blond crouched down, elbows balancing on knees in front of Axel. Without a word, Axel saw the blond reach for him, the image flickering in and out of his vision as helpless tears began to fall.

"Shh," the familiar voice said again. "Shh," it quieted, as Axel took in a ragged breath, trying to control himself. He wasn't prone to emotional displays of weakness like this, not usually. But this was Roxas. It had always only been Roxas who could do this to him, make him feel so small despite their differences in physical size.

And then a kiss, and then another. Axel found himself reaching almost hungrily for Roxas, his body eager to memorize the blond's again after so long apart. Axel's kisses were tender, Roxas' more insistent, moving from his mouth and down along his jawline to his neck. Before long, Axel felt the sharp pain again, just like it'd felt from the night before, but this time lower down, near his collarbone.

Almost just as quickly, he felt his body relax, going limp as Roxas kissed, and nipped, and suckled. Despite the racing of his heart, Axel's mind felt slow and dumb. Senses seemed to heighten too, as Axel felt every slight movement Roxas made, his lips parting, his tongue flicking against Axel's prominent collar, yet he found it impossibly difficult to form a coherent thought.

One more light kiss, and Roxas began to move up again, until his face was pressed against Axel's, mingling with his tears, which by now had ebbed away and begun to dry against his face.

Roxas looked up, touched a tuft of Axel's hair that was still held back, now in loose disarray. "You dyed your hair back," he said, and Axel could hear surprise in his tone.

Axel shrugged helplessly. "I let it grow out, mostly. You know…after…" he trailed off lamely, unsure how to frame the rest of the sentence.

Roxas kissed him again, trailing his lips toward Axel's right ear. As he moved his lips upward, one arm rested on Axel's chest for a moment, before meandering slowly downward. "I like it," he breathed.

Trembling, Axel found that his vision still wasn't entirely in focus. It was confusing, how he felt right now. The longer he remained awake, the more alert he knew he should be getting. The opposite seemed to be happening instead. He felt warm, somehow drugged. The only thing that was alert and sensitive beyond reason was his skin as it awoke under Roxas' touch.

Lower, lower, Axel felt the path of Roxas' fingers so acutely it was hard to believe his touch was as light as it was through his clothes. Lower, lower, from chest to abdomen, until it veered slightly to one side, down one leg, coming to a rest on his inner thigh. As though hearing from a distance far removed from the situation at hand, Axel heard himself moan. It was a low, longing sound. He could feel Roxas' smile against the side of his face a moment later in response.

"Make love to me."

Axel's eyes, heavily lidded only a moment earlier, shot wide open. With effort, he pushed himself upright, brushing Roxas' hand away from his lap, an incredulous look of disbelief on his face.

"But-"

Roxas cut him off, his mouth finding Axel's in a rough kiss. Roxas seemed to be trying to make him lose control, and in his current, hazy state it wasn't a particularly challenging feat, even Axel could admit to himself.

"It's fine, Axi. It'll be fine," Roxas soothed. As though to emphasize, he pulled slightly away, eyebrows raised, eyes innocent and wide. "I'm fine now. Promise."

Axel shook his head, unsure if it was a denial of the blond's words or simply to clear his own thoughts. Without question, Roxas was exciting him, and his offer was enticing. But he found the image of the blond before him now, confident and eager, overlapped by one of the Roxas he remembered last year, right before it had all ended. That Roxas had been terrified of his touch, at the prospect of being touched in such a way by anyone. That Roxas had begged him not to, and asked to give him space.

The confident version of that same boy now moved in closer, pressed himself onto Axel's chest. "Please," he said. "I _want _you."

This was all too much for Axel. He felt himself losing grip on what he knew of Roxas during the time they'd been dating and what he saw before him now.

"No," he said, trying to sound confident, trying to be firm. The word came out like a plea. _Please understand. I can't reconcile what I knew of you then to what I see of you now._ The room began to swim before his eyes. Even Roxas dimmed, flickered, faded, and his hold on Axel's torso lost its intensity. Axel's head suddenly felt insurmountably heavy, and it began to feel like too much effort to hold it up away from the couch. He was vaguely aware of sharp blue eyes watching him, bright cerulean orbs standing out in the otherwise dull surroundings of his room.

And then there was nothing. Nothing but dark, suffocating silence.


	3. Chapter 2: Full of Woe Part I

**Wednesday November 2, 2011**

_Wednesday's child is full of woe…_

Strange dreams. He'd been having such strange dreams.

And then they'd simply faded, the further the sun rose into the sky. Axel shifted on the couch, half-awake but not ready to get up. It wasn't until nearly 11 that he finally cracked open his eyes, glaring dolefully at the room around him like it was its fault he felt like such unadulterated shit right now.

He blinked again. Living room. He was in his living room. Not in bed, but on a couch, with papers, a textbook, and other assorted hand-outs strewn around the floor near his feet.

No bedroom meant no alarm. That shot him up and looking for a clock. There wasn't technically one in the room, because he hadn't, technically, bothered to decorate after moving in at the end of last semester. It was just a space to eat, and sometimes sleep. Nothing special since he had no one to share it with.

Axel searched around for the remote, still not feeling like standing up fully. Digging it out from under a sea of looseleaf reading assignments, he pressed the timer button and stared.

11:06.

He should've been in French right now. And if he didn't start moving, he was going to be royally fucked for making his 12:00 counseling appointment too.

That got him up, but he almost ended sitting right back down again a second later as his vision swam a little and a wave a nausea washed over him. Axel staggered a moment, using the couch to brace himself. He wondered if he was coming down with something. With the weather changing so rapidly from muggy to chill, it _was_ the season for people to get sick.

God, he sounded like his mom now, he inwardly groaned. What was next? Considering going to Walgreens for a flu shot? He wasn't getting sick, Axel told himself. He'd just had a rough couple of nights.

Gathering his belongings off the floor, Axel stuffed them back into his bag…before remembering that he hadn't showered since Monday morning. Unless he wanted people thinking he was going off the deep end and trying his hand at becoming a professional hobo, he was going to need to clean up before he could go to school. On the bus system, it took an hour, so he was already going to be late. Why the fuck was his life being so difficult lately?

Tearing through the small apartment, Axel practically dove into the shower, swearing as a shot of cold water hit his face, his shoulders, his back. It'd take too long to wait until the ancient water heater warmed up. He didn't have time for a hot shower today.

The icy water refreshed him at least, but it also got him thinking about what had occurred the night before.

It had been so real, he thought as he reached for the shampoo, barely noting it was almost empty. He'd never dreamt that vividly before except while on some seriously hardcore shit. But he had never really been an active drug user, and his usage had dropped to absolute nil after he'd met Roxas. What the hell was this then?

_It __could __be __real_, a sly voice at the back of his mind suggested. _You just don't want to believe it, because it was Roxas who was the dreamer, the romantic._

He'd never had time for dreams before Roxas. Coming from a poor single parent home, it was all he could to do manage the grades that got him into this school. Even then, Axel expected he was mostly a pity case. He'd made the citywide news during his junior year of high school averting - perhaps ironically enough after last night - a home invasion. The news story had lauded him as an exemplar of youth in his neighborhood, helping fight back against gang violence that the police didn't have the resources to handle on their own.

All he'd had to do was write his admissions essay on that topic and get a few well-meaning community advocates to back him up and he'd been accepted, along with Demyx, Saix, Reno. All kids from the ghetto. All now young adults getting a top notch education with a mixture of federal loans and small scholarship offerings. This was how the system was supposed to work.

Except, Axel grimaced as he reached for a bar of soap, it'd all been a lie, almost everything in that story either embellished or downright fabricated in some way. Home invasion was an exaggerated description of a kid getting kicked out of his house and trying to break back in with a couple of his friends. Axel had only been passing by and calling out to the kids loudly enough to alert the occupants inside as to what was happening. If they'd truly been members of a gang, he'd have been dead as retribution for interfering. And the police? Screw lack of resources. How about lack of interest? They'd never cared about the low-lifes in this city. Never would.

His high school grades had been accurate, at least, his one agreement with an overworked mother determined to ensure a better life for her only child. But Axel hadn't taken AP classes; his school hadn't even offered any. He'd gotten by the normal way, by sneaking studying time in between shifts at his nearly full-time after school job. He'd sacrificed sleep but not much more to ensure assignments were handed in on time. If there was one thing Axel knew how to do, it was simply get by. An acceptance to a university of this calibre had just merely worked out somehow.

Hopping out of the shower, Axel toweled off, grabbed a pair of boxers, and pulled on his jeans. His cell phone was still in the right pocket where he'd left it the night before, just barely hanging on to the last bar of charge.

11:18. Shit, shit, shit.

Thinking quickly, he punched in the number of the academic counseling office.

"St. Merritt's Counseling," a bright, female voice rang out on the other end.

"Yeah, hi," he started, clearing his throat when he realized he'd barely spoken above a whisper. "Hi. I have an appointment at noon with Tifa Moore. I'm running late though," he admitted, trying to sound conciliatory. "Is there any chance I could move it back a little later?"

If it had been for any other issue, Axel would've just cancelled it. But not showing up meant potentially not graduating, and he didn't want to deal with an irate mother, a mother who was an absolute expert in the art of guilt-tripping.

The receptionist was silent a moment, the only sounds through the line being the clicking of a keyboard. Axel's phone beeped a warning. The battery was almost entirely dead.

"She's got a 12:30 available," the girl chimed in. "Should I change your appointment time?"

"Yes, please," Axel breathed, feeling the tension in his shoulders loosen a little. "I'll be there." He managed to add a quick "thanks" before his phone shut off.

Useless piece of shit. It didn't even have a data plan, yet barely lasted 5 hours without a charger. He tossed it onto the counter of the bathroom sink. No point in taking it with him if it'd only serve as an oversized paperweight at this point.

He pulled on a t-shirt, wincing at the soreness in his neck and collarbone as it slid on.

His collarbone… Was it really marked up? A vulnerable part of Axel had to know.

In one easy stride, Axel made his way to the bathroom sink and stared into the mirror, not that far off from what he'd found himself doing just the morning prior. He hardly saw the bruises on his neck beyond noting they were yellowing nicely, should be gone in another few days, even if they looked horrendous now. It was an area lower beneath his shirt that he was most concerned about today.

Pulling the collar of his t-shirt down, Axel surveyed the area, green eyes slitted as he searched.

Nothing. Again, nothing. This time he couldn't even have claimed not to be sure. There was abso-fucking-lutely nothing marking his collarbone or the area surrounding it. And he was a complete moron for having held out hope for anything otherwise.

Frustrated, he pressed on the skin beneath his collar. A hot, aching pain shot into his shoulder almost immediately. What the…what was this?

Axel leaned in closer to the mirror to get a better look. Still nothing. He pressed down again. Still pain. And the skin around the tender area was noticeably warmer than the rest of his body.

He didn't have time to contemplate much longer, just barely had time to pull back his wet hair, flee out of the bathroom, grab his coat and school bag, make the bus, and remember he had a Stats quiz this afternoon. The rest of the nearly hour-long ride on public transportation was taken up by last minute cramming and shooting nasty looks at the people obliviously invading his personal space. A collarbone was just a collarbone. A Stats test, on the other hand, spelled certain doom.

~ o ~ o ~

"So nice of you to show up, Mr. Aranda."

With long brown hair and a lithe figure most college co-eds would've envied, academic advisor Tifa Moore sat with practiced authority behind her desk as Axel entered her office. For a moment, he simply stood in the doorway feeling awkward, unsure how to proceed.

"Yeah, uh, sorry to, er, postpone, I guess." Axel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, holding his messenger bag almost protectively at his side. Did she actually want an explanation?

Tifa Moore was not one to mince words, however. "Sit," she said, indicating the chair across from her desk. As he approached, she opened a manilla folder although her eyes remained on him.

"You should've had this appointment around this time last year," she said.

Axel remained silent, waiting for the obligatory expression of sympathy that usually followed whenever last year was brought up.

The silence stretched awkwardly between them. Surely she'd say something to break the ice, Axel figured. Tifa didn't bite though.

"I had to deal with…" Axel trailed off, unsure of how to get the message across without having to really talk about it at the same damn time. He found it coming out anyway, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. "My friend died last year."

_They'd met in a packed Intro to Psychology class. With over 200 students sitting in, there hadn't been many seats available by the time Axel and Demyx had shown up two minutes before the start of class that first day. Undeterred, Demyx traipsed off toward an empty seat surrounded by females, leaving Axel to search ever closer to the front of the classroom where seats were more available. He hadn't been paying attention whom he'd sat down by; he'd just needed a seat, preferably not directly in the front row._

"_Cutting it close for the first day, huh?"_

_A peppy voice to his left caught Axel's attention, and he turned, assuming he was catching the tail end of someone else's conversation._

_Bright blue eyes under spiked, nearly platinum blond hair looked back at him in an expectant manner._

_Taken off-guard that he'd actually been the subject of the probably very rhetorical question, Axel sat there, wordless. The boy didn't seem to mind and continued as though it was entirely natural to start chatting up someone he'd never met before._

"_I was here, like, 30 minutes early to make sure I got a good seat. Guess you just got lucky."_

"_Right," Axel drew out the word, clearly implying just how many fucks he gave about getting a good seat in this class. It was a general ed requirement. What did he care?_

"_My name's Roxas, by the way. This is my first year, althou-"_

_Mercifully, the teacher had cut the little irritant off before Axel had had to go through introductions. Maybe there was a god after all, he'd thought at the time._

Tifa's gaze moved downward, to his file. "Boyfriend, actually, it says." Before he could stop himself, Axel flinched. After all this time, the implication that homosexuality had anything to do with him still instilled a sense of shame. It wasn't something talked about in his neighborhood, wasn't something flaunted or anything to be proud of. Half the time, Axel thought his friends had only really accepted the relationship after it had ended because it'd been easier that way on all of them.

Maybe that wasn't fair to Zexion, but for pretty much everyone else…Axel's personal attractions were generally never brought up in polite conversation. Even his mother had referred to Roxas as his 'friend'; now, here in the guidance counseling office, Axel found he was doing it too.

_They'd been making out in Roxas' dorm room, one of the nicer living complexes on campus, and just about as far away from the cheaper one the school was paying Axel to live in as a condition of his scholarship. Straddling him on the futon, Axel could feel the self-satisfied smile on Roxas' face against his lips as the kiss intensified. He couldn't believe he was doing this, with Roxas Williamson of all people, a white kid from a rich family he didn't have anything in the world in common with. Except for gender._

_The kiss slowed, intensity lessening as Roxas pulled away, eyes shining with excitement, maybe even something simpler like happiness. Axel stared back at him, taking the smaller boy in with sharp green eyes._

_Then he was back to being cuddled. Axel let him do it, allowed his own hands to wrap around the blond's lower back distractedly. Roxas was putting pressure on his lap, pants already tight from the friction of their combined movements._

"_Two months of making out now. I think this has to qualify me as your boyfriend. Maybe?" Roxas kissed his neck, allowing his teeth to graze lightly over Axel's exposed skin. "What do you think?" Again, that smile. Again, that smile pressed against his skin, specifically. Axel felt an internal quivering begin deep in his stomach that didn't quite align with the thoughts that had just begun to take an unbidden turn for the negative._

"_I'm not gay."_

_The assertion was automatic and out before he'd put much thought into it, forcing its way from his chest, up into his throat, and directly out of his mouth as though propelled by something deeper than Axel's own convictions on the matter._

_Roxas snorted. "Yeah, me neither." His mouth returned to the base of Axel's throat._

_He felt a fiery surge of …what was it? Anger? Shame? At any rate, it was in Axel's gut and wasn't going to let him off this afternoon - or Roxas, it seemed._

"_I'm _**_not_**_ a homosexual," he repeated, this time more forcefully. "Got it memorized?" He pushed Roxas away, onto the empty space on the seat next to him._

_Roxas simply shrugged. "Okay. Bi then." He shot Axel a look that seemed to say 'what's the big difference'?_

_Axel knew he was overreacting. Roxas hadn't done anything to threaten him, hadn't insisted he tell his friends or family. Nothing. He'd just asked a simple, easily answerable question. It'd probably even been rhetorical, something he could've ignored while they continued kissing, if he hadn't made a big deal about it. But the idea of linking himself with a term that had only been given negative connotations all his life back home made Axel's blood boil._

_Green eyes flashing, Axel stood up._

"_You think it's easy," he asked, voice low, tone dangerously close to spiteful. "It might be for you, coming from money and liberal parents. Try being different in the projects. Try not being white, but different in a way that could get you targeted for a hate crime."_

_Technically, Axel looked white. With relatively Caucasian coloring and green eyes, there was really no denying that. The problem was no one had ever treated him as white before coming to this school full of privileged, oblivious upper class children who happened to be just that. Why should they start treating him differently now?_

_Roxas had visibly stiffened, eyes glazing over as though he was somewhere else, if only for a moment. "It hasn't always been easy," he said, voice hardly above a whisper. "You don't know…"_

"_Yeah, well," Axel scoffed, although the look on Roxas' face made him soften his tone as he continued anyway. Roxas always brought out something unexpected in him, something he never thought he'd ever be able to fully comprehend. "Doesn't look that way from where I'm standing, Rox."_

"Mr. Aranda?"

Axel's eyes refocused at the sound of the nearby female voice, pulling him from his thoughts.

"_What_?" he said, the word coming out strangled and harsh.

Ms. Moore raised an eyebrow at him ever so slightly.

"Sorry," he amended, trying this time to keep his gaze intently on the woman in front of him. And focused this time.

"I was saying, Mr. Aranda, I'm very sorry about your boyfriend, but that doesn't excuse the fa-"

"Axel," he interjected. "It's Axel, actually."

The advisor gave him a blank, uncomprehending look.

"Instead of, you know. Mr. Aranda," he stammered, trying to explain himself. This woman didn't look like she got interrupted often.

Silence. Silence and then a hardened expression on Ms. Moore's end of the desk.

"It won't be after you graduate and start searching for your first job," Tifa Moore replied, her words terse and not leaving any room for argument. _Mr. Aranda it is then_, Axel thought.

"As I was saying," she continued as though no interruption had occurred, "you want to graduate in the Spring, correct? Get out of this place. Move on?" She paused, waiting for his response.

Move on…is that what he wanted to do? After the last few nights he'd been having, Axel couldn't really be sure of anything anymore. He just wanted everything to stop hurting.

He found he couldn't speak, didn't know what to say. Numbly, Axel nodded.

"Fine then," she looked down, shuffling through the paperwork in his folder. "Then you need to declare a major and start working on your senior project immediately. Even then, I can't guarantee you'll complete all the requirements to walk in May's ceremony." She looked back up at him from across her desk. "There are prerequisites for some of these classes, you know."

This time, Axel simply shook his head, scowling. Did know, didn't care. After everything that had happened, he honestly couldn't say any subject really interested him all that much anymore.

The advisor ignored his fatalist expression as she pulled out a sheet of paper that looked suspiciously like a transcript. "It seems Mr. Aranda has an interest in pottery," she said, eyes skimming over the paper before looking over at him. Axel could've sworn she was just using his surname now for no other reason than to piss him off.

"Personally," she continued, eyes trailing down to rest on his neck and the yellowing bruises that were no doubt quite visible since he hadn't had the foresight to cover them up today, "you don't strike me as the artistic type."

Axel wasn't. It was the fire from the kilns that had interested him in those classes, not the clay work itself. He opened his mouth to offer a few words of defense, but Tifa continued, unfazed.

"You weren't accepted into the art and design school anyway, so it hardly matters. You're not eligible to declare an Art major."

Axel crossed his arms over his chest, unable to hide a scowl. It felt like she was mocking him, and there was nothing he could do. Insulting an employee of the school probably wasn't in his best interests, no matter how much he was provoked though. He remained silent.

Still not looking his way, the advisor sat up a little straighter at her desk as she searched out the large course catalogue that described the requirements to obtain each major St. Merritt offered. Flipping through the pages, she stopped a little past the book's center, using a perfectly manicured fingernail to skim down the side of one page.

"Psychology," she said. The word had a note of finality to it. "Yes, I think you could manage it." She was speaking more to herself than to Axel at this point. "You'd need to take five Psychology courses. That's two courses from the Cognitive and Biological course list, one from the Clinical List, and one in the area of Quantitative and Applied Psychology. Plus your senior seminar project and the Graduate Proficiency Test in French also have to be successfully completed."

The advisor kept speaking, but Axel was hardly hearing her any longer. Psychology. Psychology had been Roxas' thing, was probably why he'd already taken a good amount of the beginning courses and a handful of electives himself.

"_Why do you even care how other peoples' minds work," he'd asked Roxas once while the blond was poring over a course catalogue not so different from the one in Tifa's office now._

_Roxas looked up, shooting Axel a sweetly indulgent smile. There was something indescribable in his eyes though. Something haunted._

_Just as quickly, the look was gone as Roxas ducked back down and returned to the catalog again. "I dunno," he'd said with a bit of a shrug. "Maybe it'll somehow teach me to figure out my own."_

"Fine. Psychology," Axel said as he abruptly stood up. From the look on Tifa's face, Axel couldn't tell if he'd interrupted her mid-sentence or not this time. Either way, he didn't care right now. He just wanted to be alone. And not fail Stats.

He made a grab for his book bag.

"I'll look up the major requirements online, make sure I'm taking the right courses," he said, trying to add a positive note to his voice and forcing as easy of a smile as he could manage onto his face. "I know where the major declaration forms are out in the reception area, so I'll just make sure to bring one back by the end of the week."

He turned on his heel to leave and was halfway out the door before the advisor's voice halted his progress.

"Mr. Aranda. One more thing."

Axel turned, impatient to be out in the sunlight, longing to feel the crisp November air against his skin.

"One more missed French class and your professor has the option to drop you at her discretion." Her expression was serious, maybe even making an attempt at stern.

Axel nodded. French. Show up. Right.

_Well_, he thought, _never a better time to start giving a shit than now._ _Allons-y_.


	4. Chapter 2: Full of Woe Part II

**Wednesday November 2, 2011**

_Wednesday's child is full of woe…_

Mason's Gym was nearly empty this early in the evening, Axel noted, although he supposed a lot could be explained by it being mid-week. Who worked out on Wednesdays anyway?

Axel did apparently, and he had Demyx to thank for it. Longtime friends Saix and Reno were present as well, although Reno hardly acknowledged him. That was fine by Axel, personally. He'd always been a little uncomfortable with the off-campus crowd Reno hung around. Reno also usually seemed better dressed than the rest of his friends. Coming from the same neighborhood growing up, that usually only meant one thing. Best to stay away then, if at all possible, from Axel's perspective. He had enough problems to deal with without adding drugs into the mix.

For awhile, it was just Saix and him, taking turns at the punching bag. Not a bad combination, considering how quiet Saix tended to be. Saix wouldn't ask questions. He wouldn't prod or stick his nose where it didn't belong. He was the perfect companion, in Axel's book.

It was Demyx who was liable to cause trouble.

"Fuck, man. Mid-terms were brutal this year. I might've failed that bastard English essay straight up." The last two words sounded strained as Demyx spoke out from across the room, weights lifted to his shoulders, before he slowly brought them down to waist level.

From behind the punching bag, Saix rolled his eyes.

"Doubtful," he countered. "Contrary to the absolute trash that comes out of your mouth elsewhere, you seem to have a way with words on paper, if your grades are any indication at least."

He turned back to Axel, holding the bag steady. "And again."

Not interested in getting into a debate over any of his friend's grades, Axel turned toward Saix, fist connecting hard with the dark red bag.

Saix nodded, his eyes scrutinizing as he dropped his grip on the bag. "Try a little lower next time."

They switched positions, Axel steadying the ancient punching bag to keep it from swinging too much while Saix eyed it, considering his body position. At any other gym, this wouldn't have been necessary. Most punching bags were secured to both the ceiling and floor. Mason's was full of old equipment though. Some of it could even be dangerous, Axel expected, although the worst he risked at the moment was receiving a poorly aimed punch from Saix.

Mason's was also cheap and didn't often get many of the richer students showing up. They had their own fancier gym memberships nearer to campus, in neighborhoods where you didn't have to walk in pairs going home after dark. This had unequivocally been their place to hang out, and occasionally Zexion's, although the skinny senior boy so very rarely actually used the equipment that the membership fee seemed wasted on him, even if it was next to nothing.

It had been Roxas who'd stuck out.

_Wearing designer jeans, expensive sneakers, and an old varsity jacket from his former prep school, Roxas Williamson looked completely out of place at Mason's Gym. Axel had been near the counter of the small, rundown cafe in a corner of the gym closest to the entranceway taking a workout break when the blond strode through, innately confident one Wednesday evening two weeks into the school year._

"_Axel, hey." His eyes had lit up, and he'd approached with a carefree, cocky stance of someone who was accustomed to being looked at. Maybe even respected._

_For a second, Axel groaned, moving his gaze down to his sports drink as he sat in between Demyx and Saix. What on earth was this kid doing here, this far from campus?_

_Roxas seemed undeterred. "Hey, cool place." His voice was now infinitely closer to the trio. "It's got a very…vintage feel, don't you think?"_

"_Why? Are you considering a membership?" Axel's voice was laced with obvious sarcasm as he looked up at the boy in front of him. By his side, Demyx snickered a little and the corners of Saix's mouth lifted upward into a hint of a smile._

_Roxas ignored them, focusing his attention on his Psych classmate. "Maybe," he shrugged. "I already have a membership at a local Choi Kwang Do studio a lot closer to campus though. I'm a black belt," he smiled, his blue eyes flashing a bit flirtatiously._

_Axel felt his face heat up. "Don't know what that is," he said, trying to sound indifferent._

"_It's a martial art, like Karate or Tae Kwon Do," Roxas supplemented, rocking a bit onto his heels as though excited and unable to stand still. "Except its focus is on smoother movements, more flexibility." Again, that flirtatious, suggestive look._

_Then why are you here, Axel wanted to ask, but he was afraid he already knew the answer. It wasn't something he wanted spoken publicly. Not in front of his friends._

"_Be right back," he muttered, sliding off his stool, practically grabbing the smaller freshman by the shoulder and pulling him out the gym's main entrance._

"_What's up with that scar on your friend's face?" Roxas' tone was light, conversational. Axel ignored him until they were outside the gym and well out of earshot._

"_The hell are you doing here, Roxas?" Axel's voice was quiet, but the underlying frustration was obvious._

_Roxas grinned back. "Just wanted to see where my neighbor in Psych came when he wasn't in class."_

_Great, a stalker. This should've been annoying. It __**was**__ annoying, actually. It also induced a pleasant but almost nauseating fluttering in Axel's stomach that he couldn't explain by logical means. They'd only met two weeks ago at the beginning of the semester. Wasn't it a bit fucked up to follow around the guy you were sitting next to in one class? It wasn't like he was all that friendly to the blond during the few minutes they ever spoke to each another._

"_Well, don't," Axel said, refusing to voice his inner confusion. "Don't follow me around. This isn't a safe neighborhood. It's not a place for some privileged white kid to just-"_

_But his words were cut off, and his face pulled downward, as Roxas' hands wrapped around his neck from either side. The kiss was insistent yet gentle. And before he even realized what was happening, red-haired, mohawk donning Axel from the projects on Southside found himself lip to lip with a former varsity athlete from St. Hart's Preparatory. With Roxas._

_It was over too soon. As Roxas backed up, he pursed his lips together as though still savoring the taste. Then, hands in the air as if to announce defeat, the blond's wide smile gave him away. "Alright, alright. I'm leaving."_

_Axel opened his mouth, but there were no words. No words at all for what had just happened._

_Roxas turned, skipped a few paces away, before looking back over his shoulder, grin still firmly in place. "And don't worry. I'm a big boy. I'll look both ways before crossing streets and everything." With a practiced wink and a sultry "see you in class," Roxas was gone. He always seemed to be the one who left first, even back then._

"…and I have to write a fucking research paper on some historical douchebag about 'breaking down barriers' or some shit. Who makes you do that for an English class?"

Axel looked up at his two friends, heart aching and feeling as if he'd just been hit in the gut.

Again, Saix's eyes were raised upward in apparent exasperation. "Most college English professors, I'd wager."

Demyx scoffed. "Yeah, well I'm a fuckin' _Music_ major so this is grade-A bullshit, man. Stupid graduation requirements." He turned toward Reno. "I shoulda gone into business like you, dude. That's where all the money is."

Reno shrugged, a knowing grin on his face. "It's where some of the money is anyway." He was dressed in street clothes, apparently done with his workout for the evening and already reaching for his coat as he waved his friends off. "Back in a second. Out for a smoke."

It was Saix who noticed the stricken look on Axel's face first.

"Everything alright?" His friend's gravelly voice was still discreetly quiet. Axel passed it over, not hearing it all, or at least not registering that the question had been directed at him.

"Axel," Saix tried again. "What's up?"

This time he heard it and turned toward his friend, although Axel found himself staring at the criss-crossed scar across Saix's face instead of regarding him eye to eye. Scars. And trouble. That's what associating with gangs got you. His friend had learned the hard way. Too late.

Axel straightened. "Nothing," his voice was brusque. He inclined his head toward the punching bag. "Hold it for me again, will you? I want to get a few more hits in."

It felt good, punching something, even if it was inanimate, couldn't feel the impact and couldn't fight back. It felt good to reach out and touch something uncomplicated, that couldn't hurt you or throw you for a loop right when you'd begun to get accustomed to the idea…of being someone's boyfriend.

"_Don't touch me!"_

_Axel pulled his hand back as though burned and simply stared at his boyfriend's huddled figure, crouched near the shower on his dorm room's bathroom floor._

He connected solidly with the punching bag.

_Uncontrollably panicked thoughts ran through his head. What'd I do, Roxas? What's wrong? Oh god, what did I do?_

"Little lower," Saix repeated his earlier instructions.

"_I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Roxas was mumbling, arms wrapped around his knees as he rocked back and forth on the floor in a rhythmic motion._

"_He's gone. Can't hurt me anymore. Dead." The words seemed aimed to comfort, but Roxas looked anything but comforted at the moment._

Axel swung lower, his fist hitting the bag again with a satisfying thud.

"Good." Saix nodded his approval. "Another."

"_I don't understand," he said, images of their intimate encounter from just moments earlier still fresh in his mind. "Roxas, please tell me what's going on. Who hurt you?" Please don't let it be me._

Another, and another. He was getting the hang of it, and Saix was nodding his encouragement.

_Roxas looked up, eyes faraway, expression miserable._

"_Who?" Axel demanded. "Tell me who."_

_One word. Who knew just one word could induce such fear in one, such loathing in the other?_

"_Grandfather..."_

"Axel! Jesus. What was that for?"

He hadn't realized he'd aimed an angry kick at the bag until Saix called out, staggering away from the punching bag that was now swinging in a violently erratic loop between them.

Breathing heavily, Axel ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair. "Sorry," he muttered. "I-I think I need some fresh air." _Or a new goddamn life._

Saix and Demyx exchanged looks, but Axel ignored them as he grabbed his small bag of belongings, hoisted it over one shoulder, and made for the door. He'd change at home after a shower.

No more than five paces removed from the gym's entrance, Axel heard his name called in a sing-song voice that seemed out of place with its masculine undertones.

He turned, regarding Reno with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms, but didn't say anything in response.

Leaning against the side of the building, Reno had his legs crossed and hair pulled back loosely. Axel's hair hadn't been more than a few shades brighter when he'd been coloring it. He'd never been able to tell whether Reno's was natural or not. Tendrils of smoke curled up from the young man's upturned lips.

"Want a smoke," he drawled, holding out his cigarette and beckoning Axel over with a light jerk of his neck.

Axel only hesitated a moment. Roxas had been the only person who'd disapproved of his habit. It hardly mattered whether his breath stank tonight, at any rate.

He made up the distance between them in a matter of seconds, taking a long, appreciative breath in as he joined Reno against the gym's exterior wall and shared his smoke.

"You look like hell, yo. Boyfriend troubles, I'm guessing." The comment put Axel immediately on edge again. A quick glance at his childhood friend showed it had just been an observation on Reno's part though, and an indifferent one at that. Reno rarely let on that he cared about anything other than himself. Tonight and these comments were no different. And, despite his outward nonchalance, Axel recognized that, of all his friends, Reno had never shied away from any mention of Axel's sexuality, presumed or otherwise. That, at least, was refreshing.

"Yeah," Axel breathed, his voice a mixture of exhausted defeat. "It's just been a shitty week for me in general. That's all."

Reno didn't say anything immediately, just retrieved his cigarette and took another long drag. He pulled out another, passing it over to Axel, before offering a light.

Minutes passed, and they remained in comfortable silence together, watching tendrils of fine, gray smoke curl lazily into the air above their heads. Axel was reminded of a time years ago when he and the others would meet up in an alley not far from his home after school to screw around and smoke whatever they'd been able to get their hands on the night before. Demyx would play the secondhand guitar that used to be his father's before he'd died. Reno would be the leader, initiating conversations and telling audacious stories to get reactions. Saix, unscarred with long blond hair not yet dyed blue as it was now, would simply observe, rarely comment, and sometimes search out bugs to crush with the steel toes of his boots.

And Axel? He'd never been sure of his role within the group, just knew he belonged, was accepted. After all that had happened - after _Roxas_ - could he still say the same thing now?

"What you need is something to loosen you up, yo," Reno was talking again. "I have lots of things that'd do the trick for ya."

The voice brought him back to the present. It took a moment for Axel to really register what Reno was saying though.

"You know I don't have the money to get hooked on the stuff you sell," he replied, coughing a little at the end of his sentence. It'd been awhile since he'd smoked with any regularity, and it seemed his body wasn't particularly eager to take up the habit again.

Reno pressed his fingers to his chest, shooting Axel a look of mock offense.

"You're a friend. It'd be on the house."

Axel pushed away from the wall. "Kind of you. I think I'll pass though."

He turned, prepared to head out, but a hand shot out, grabbing his arm and holding him in place. Without a word, Reno slid his hand into Axel's, unfurling the fingers he hadn't even realized had been balled up into a fist. He felt something smooth and small get deposited before Reno released him.

"I'm serious, yo. It'll relax ya. Have a night on me and then move on tomorrow. Won't get no pressure from me to buy more. Promise."

Did he look that far gone, Axel wondered. Did he really look like he needed a hit on a Wednesday night?

Axel looked down at the pill that'd just been deposited into his hand. Small and powder blue, the shiny oval capsule gleamed a little off a nearby streetlamp. In fact, maybe he _did_need a hit, something to make the world fall away for awhile. It was only one, after all, Axel reassured himself. Only one and he wasn't stupid enough to seek out more. He hoped.

Nodding more to himself than Reno, his fingers closed over the speck of blue that would potentially let him cheat reality for an evening. With a look of determined finality, Axel popped the pill in his mouth.

Reno straightened up, watching Axel intently, hand stretched out as though in warning. "Hey, I wouldn't do that…"

Ignoring him, Axel swallowed the thing dry.

"…until you get home."

"Oh?" Axel raised an eyebrow, almost as though to challenge Reno's assertion.

But his friend had recomposed himself, an air of indifference surrounding him once more, as he shrugged noncommittally. "No worries, yo. Have some fun with it," he said. And then, with a nefarious grin, "I'd just make sure to get home soon, if ya know what I mean."

~ o ~ o ~

Axel couldn't be sure how long he'd been walking - or stumbling, more accurately - by the time Roxas showed up. The streets around him were blurred, streetlamps too bright for his vision. All the while, a pleasant, calming sensation was pulsing from his chest through his extremities.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, although even that had a good-natured tone to it. Reno hadn't been kidding about the pill's effects. Roxas' hair even stood out, tufts glowing a sun-kissed yellow around the edges.

And his eyes. If there was one place Axel wanted to lose himself in forever…

"Are you drunk?" Roxas asked the question with a hint of curiosity, bright eyes passing over Axel's torso and upwards to meet his unfocused gaze.

Axel started laughing, although it was short-lived. Drunk? On a Wednesday night? Why did everyone think he needed to chill out in the middle of a weekday?

He shook his head. "Just lost. Or waiting for the bus. Dunno."

Sliding his hands into the pockets of his varsity letter jacket, Roxas looked down at his feet. "You're walking in the opposite direction of the bus stop then," he said quietly.

Axel's vision faltered, and with it the image of Roxas seemed to dim, becoming translucent as though he was fading. Axel blinked, and Roxas solidified before him once again.

"Well, shit. Que va." He turned, stumbling again over the uneven sidewalk. Strong hands steadied him. _Roxas_.

"Why don't you call a friend," Roxas suggested. "Someone who can make sure you get home safely."

Axel found his hand moving to his jeans pocket of its own volition, but it was empty, and he suddenly remembered. Dead charger. Bathroom sink.

"You're not real," Axel said instead, accusation in his tone as he shrugged the smaller boy off of him. "I'm just really fucked up right now."

Roxas simply regarded him with that same uninterpretable expression, blue eyes wide, taking everything in. The blond sighed, exhaling deeply as though to ground himself. Unconsciously, Axel found himself mimicking the action, his warm breath causing a light mist to drift up between them as it hit the cold November air. Roxas' breath hadn't done that.

"C'mon, Axi," the blond said, beckoning slightly with one hand. "I'll take you home."

For a moment, Axel remained in place, watching the retreating figure head off in the direction he'd just indicated. He looked so real, hair falling into his face from the wind and shoulders hunched slightly as he slid his hands deeper into the folds of his jacket.

Axel ran to catch up with him, finding it remarkably challenging to keep pace with the smaller boy. With surprise, Axel noted through his hazy state just how quickly Roxas was walking despite the obvious difference in the length of both of their legs. What was quickly winding Axel seemed not to be affecting Roxas at all.

Roxas had been an athlete in high school though, and he'd never really stopped training. Axel just worked out to keep tabs on his friends, one of their only shared activities.

Was that really it though, why Roxas was able to practically lap him without breaking a sweat? It was more logical that he was just seriously tripping right now. Or…could it be…? As Roxas slowed, Axel snaked a hand up to his collarbone again, pressing on the soft flesh right below it. Still warm, still tender.

"Roxas?"

The boy turned to him.

"Is…any of this real? Are you real?" Without the pill, Axel wouldn't have had the bravado to ask what sounded like such a ridiculous question.

_Without the pill_, he reminded himself, _you probably wouldn't be in this situation anyway_.

Roxas' mouth turned just slightly upward at the corners. "You just said I wasn't."

The blond stepped forward, out onto the corner as a city bus approached.

"Yeah, but-" Axel didn't have time to finish protesting, and Roxas was quick to step aside with a wink and an easy smile as the doors to the bus swiveled open.

"After you, cutie."

~ o ~ o ~

He couldn't stop staring at Roxas. The entire ride home, Axel forced himself to look, to take all of him in. To believe, even. His blurred vision contorted the blond at times and the pill warped his observations, often taking solid, static objects and making them dance. Making them swim. He heard conversations between the two of them that were done and over with, knew only that they weren't happening currently because Roxas' mouth was closed, lips impassive as he watched, simply watched, and seemed to take everything in with fresh, wondering eyes.

He seemed so much younger than Axel remembered, and so much older at the same time. Roxas' skin was certainly paler than Axel last remembered. And throughout the journey, he found himself wondering, scrutinizing. Did his boyfriend truly have fangs for teeth?

Then there was that thing with time jumping around. One moment he was on the bus, the next he was in the school library, quizzing Roxas on imparfait for their cours de français. And then they were home, Axel fumbling with his keys, a second later tossing them onto the side table and its pile of unopened mail. His answering machine blinked in the dark apartment space.

Four messages. Fuck them all.

Barely remembering to shut the door behind him, Axel made his way into the living room and the lamp nearest to his couch. With a quiet snap, he flipped the switch on.

…nothing happened. Not even a pop to indicate the bulb had blown out.

"I broke it yesterday," Roxas' voice rang out softly from the other end of the room, although Axel could no longer see him. "Remember?"

Right. Except that had been a dream. Axel had been almost sure of it. And if this was a dream now too, everything was getting pretty damn consistent, considering it was difficult enough for him to remember to even show up to class as of late. Everything fit too perfectly, made too much sense. Except nothing made sense at all.

"I need a shower," he said, more to himself than anyone else. With no response from Roxas, Axel made his way into the bathroom, turning on the dimmer of the two sets of lights. Just in case.

This time he waited for the water to heat up, throwing his workout clothing into an untidy pile by the door, before sliding in and letting the warmth overtake him. The heat made him dizzier, a little nauseous, but it felt good to get clean. The sweat and the grime, all gone. If only the memories would wash away just as easily.

He used the last of the shampoo on his hair, trying to savor the steam and the heat before the water turned cold as it inevitably did around the 10 minute mark of most of his showers. At least he got some warm water to bathe with at all. He heard the two tenants on the other side of him had more sporadic use of their own hot water heater that was in desperate need of repair. Or replacement. That's simply what your money got you on this side of town, with these types of people. Axel's kind.

Through the steam and the shower's glass stall door, he saw a movement of warped yellow and blue. For a moment, Axel entertained the thought that the blond would join him in the shower, clinging to him as he'd done many times before, in the private stall of Roxas' dorm room last year…

The thought made his blood flow rush downward, and Axel felt a pleasant tightness begin at his mid-section.

But the blond didn't approach, just seemed to waver and flicker against the stall's thick, misted glass. The more he thought about it, about his and Roxas' bodies pressed forcefully together, the tighter Axel got one direction, the dizzier he became in another.

He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower stall, and regarded the boy before him with only a hint of embarrassment. Drugs do wonders for one's self confidence, he noted with only a hint of irony.

What he also noted was that this time it wasn't Roxas who was flickering in and out of his vision. Instead, it was the dim bathroom light that seemed to be wavering, almost like a candle, and in time with Roxas' own slight movements. Vaguely off to the side, Axel noted also the light catching off the shiny outer casing of his cell phone. Useless piece of…

"You sure you're okay now?" Roxas' voice broke his strangely fixated concentration, and Axel turned his attention back to the boy just in time to see him approach. Tight leather pants, with laces holding them together at the sides, and an almost translucent black beater met his gaze. When had Roxas changed clothing?

When had they arrived at the club, for that matter? The pulsing music throbbed against Axel's aching skull as he felt Roxas' arms snake around his waist, slide under his shirt. The blond pressed their hips together, grinding lightly in time with the rhythmic beat of the music overhead. A teasing nip at his neck with sharper than expected teeth found Axel groaning, pressing his hips more firmly against Roxas', found him reaching around to slide his hands down the younger boy's backside.

God, he wanted…

"Axel?" The voice, and a light touch to his bare chest, brought him back. Or took him away. He couldn't be sure anymore.

He made a small sound at the back of his throat, mindful of how aroused he currently was, of how his hair was still erratically dripping on the floor from his recent shower.

The obvious indication of his current state wasn't lost on Roxas, and Axel saw an amused flicker cross his expression, although for the moment his lips remained pursed into a thin line of contemplation. He was back to wearing school clothes, Roxas. And Axel was back to wondering just how crazy he had to be to skip locations - and his boyfriend's own clothing - in the mental blink of an eye.

"What are you on, Axi?" Roxas spoke, his voice quiet, not judging. Just curious. Lightly, Roxas splayed his fingers across Axel's chest with one hand and flexed, pulsing it a little as though in time to music Axel could no longer hear. Axel could feel the other hand lightly fluttering at his inner thigh, almost as though by incidental accident.

Standing on his toes, Roxas leaned forward, pressing his lips against the space just underneath Axel's collarbone. A fresh burst of tender soreness blossomed from the area, extending outward in all directions in a way that required Axel to force back a cry of surprise at the confusing, alternating thrum of pain and pleasure.

"And can I have some," the smaller boy asked, his voice husky, cold, and breathless against Axel's burning skin.

"I don't…" Axel started, but faltered as he felt Roxas' lower hand trail inward along his thigh. "Reno only gave me…"

Slowly, slowly, Roxas' fingers moved upward, brushing against the base of Axel's arousal almost playfully.

"…one pill," Axel choked out.

So close to Axel, Roxas blinked, and for a moment, the bright blue orbs were lost against porcelain skin. It was almost painful, not seeing those ocean colored eyes, ever curious, watching him.

But then they were back, corners creasing as a grin began to form on Roxas' perfect, pale lips. He pulled away, tugging a still dripping Axel along with him out the door. Toward a room more accommodating for what it seemed like they were going to do.

"There are other ways," Roxas said, his voice soft, a silken promise that gave Axel a feverish thrill throughout his body. "There are other ways, and I'll show you all of them."

In his head, the thrumming began again, Roxas' voice this time the beat that carried him on.

_Just let me. Just let me. I'll show you all of them if you'll just let me._


	5. Chapter 3: Far to go

**Thursday November 3, 2011**

_Thursday's child has far to go..._

I remember the blood, just not whether it was his or my own.

I remember the cries, the thrusts. Long release.

I remember him and the hugs and the bed and the blood.

I remember unspoken pleas.

But who, in the end when it's all said and done, and the man's dead and gone

…who in this world remembers me?

* * *

><p>In my dream I am Roxas, and I am crying. Curled into myself, huddled, young. Silently weeping.<p>

In my dream, there is blood, raw spots on my arms where I've mindlessly scratched myself, tearing my own lightly tanned flesh red and tender. But the crying is worse. What it signifies is far worse, for here in my own bedroom, surrounded by wealth, by privilege, I am coming undone.

Pretty boy. That was his preferred pet name for me. Blue eyes. Pretty son.

_So tight._

A shriek at the memory begins to rise in my throat, but it catches, turns in on itself and tears into my own chest, coming out in a choking whimper instead. Coming out as almost nothing despite what it actually was.

I can't do this anymore. Why can't I board at St. Hart's, even though it's so close to home? Or why aren't I brave enough just to flee?

My fault. All my fault.

_Roxas_…

And then there is Axel pressing into me, holding me in his arms, and I know he loves me but all I can see is red. Red hair. Red blotches spotting my arms.

"_I'm not a homosexual."_ And then I'm being being pushed away. Why is he so angry all the time? Why won't he just accept and enjoy? _"Got it memorized?"_

Ignorant.

Frustrating!

I'm lying on the floor of my own bathroom, fading. Is there red now too? For me on that evening, it is green I remember more than anything. Green, panicked eyes. They'd left me. Except I'd been the one to do the leaving. I remember now.

And then someone brought me back.

"We don't need another one. He's just a distraction," I'm being told, just as his anguished green eyes fade from my sight. "That wasn't why I came to you. That isn't why you've been blessed. You're new. Things are still fresh. Forget your friend. Live again."

But I hadn't. I followed Axel every evening since the anniversary of my death, the first moment I'd been given the opportunity to explore on my own.

And now I'm watching Axel trip on whatever drug he'd taken earlier this evening. I can hear his heart beating an almost deafening rhythm at my temples, can smell the warm, desperate humanity on him. Pervasive.

God, I want to…

The kisses start gently, my hands tangling in wet, brown hair. It's strangely thrilling to hear Axel's throaty sounds as I tease the sensitive areas of his body. This time I'm not afraid.

What I am experiencing though is unlike anything Axel has ever felt before, I know that much. I am acutely aware of every sound my beautiful, dazed boyfriend is making. So arousing, yes. But it goes beyond that. I see details Axel will never notice, hear sounds from within and beyond this small apartment, from the last vestiges of water dripping off the shower head in the bathroom down the hall to the creaks and sighs of the old wooden stairs as another tenant makes their way into their own apartment after a late night out.

And the blood. I am anticipating the blood.

_I'm not a homosexual..._

My lips curve into a smirk while my hand closes around his arousal. I feel the satisfying sensation in my own sensitive body as I kiss slowly further down, the fingernails of my free hand scraping just slightly against his side, onto his stomach, eliciting delicious sounds from him, amazing reactions.

I stroke him gently, keeping a steady pace throughout. There is a sense of anticipation Axel won't understand, for it's not just physical lust. Instead, hunger, sincere and simple.

And then I am forced back into my own, true body, feeling it writhe under Roxas' ministrations. I'm looking down at Roxas' mouth so close to my heat, looking into blue eyes that very plainly..._want_. And I need to give. Oh god, I want to give Roxas whatever he desires.

"Axi," Roxas murmurs, cold breath releasing onto my abdomen. I cry out, the cold mixing in a surprisingly erotic way with the unnatural heat from my own fever-ravished body.

"Axel," Roxas repeats, commanding me to look at him. After a moment, my green unfocused eyes comply. His are a lucid and icy blue. And I find myself drowning again, and I know he's aware. I know he realizes I'm his, unequivocally. Here.

Roxas smiles, eyes glinting, incisors standing out subtly in the shadows of the dim light of my room. And all I can do is watch.

A gentle kiss at the base of my abdomen, and then there's red. Nothing but burning, unrelenting red and two words that shatter the night to pieces before my very eyes. Or maybe, possibly, it is me myself who has burst to pieces from the inside out.

"Hey, Axel," Roxas says, teeth bared above my stomach, expression knowing, all the while that I myself still don't understand anything at all.

"Memorize this, love."

I remember nothing more.

~ o ~ o ~

The first thing he was consciously aware of was heat, overwhelming heat.

Axel tried sitting up in bed, without success.

"Roxas?" The name was a murmured question, laced with longing and need.

No response. He forced himself to sit up and that's when he was aware of a second sensory experience.

Nausea.

Axel knew about Roxas' past. Despite the blond's initial resolve to keep it to himself, it came to light after their first time together somewhat by default. Axel knew, but until this morning he couldn't truly say he understood.

The dream had been so vivid, Roxas' shame and self-loathing so clear in his mind. How could anyone live after that, he wondered? How could anyone thrive?

Axel felt his stomach curl at the thought of the physical invasions his boyfriend had endured, felt the bile rising into the back of his throat.

Panicking, he threw the covers back and rushed for the bathroom, the ensuing dizziness making it even more difficult to find his way safely. But he did eventually manage, and the toilet seemed almost to rise up to greet him as Axel retched, his body seemingly bent on purging the memories from him, of finding a form of relief that had alluded Roxas during his own life.

Legs weak and surroundings swimming before his eyes, Axel sank to the ground on shaky knees, head resting on his hands, elbows offering a supportive place on the rim of the toilet seat. He closed his eyes, allowing the tremors to travel his body in waves.

It was here where Zexion found his friend an indeterminate time later on that morning.

~ o ~ o ~

They'd met in Freshman Comp, both first year students. Zexion's hair had been a fine, white blond then, his natural shading, as opposed to the blue it was now.

If Axel were truly being honest with himself, he'd been attracted to Zexion from the moment he sat down next to the young man.

Shorter than Axel, and often hiding behind albino tresses, there was an intensity to Zexion Davies that Axel would later admit he found alluring. It also didn't hurt that Zexion was down to earth, from a modest, working-class family. He hadn't grown up in the projects, but among the elite former prep school matriculates at St. Merritt Zexion was just as much out of his element as Axel had been during their first year. They became fast friends as a consequence.

Demyx had never really gotten it. "Dude's a geek," he'd always complain. "Unless you're getting him to do your homework for you, there's totally nothing to him, man."

It was true he shared very little in common with Zexion beyond mutually attended classes. Zexion was an academic at heart, already obviously looking forward to a promising teaching career after the successful completion of grad school. Axel didn't know what he wanted to do, just knew that he'd promised his mother he would try here at school, that he wouldn't add to the numerous disappointments she'd already experienced in life.

Zexion loved numbers, and science, and language. Math had almost been the end of Axel, he'd gotten his one required lab course out of the way as soon as possible, and the only language he was any good at besides English was the one he'd grown up speaking with friends and family.

Maybe they'd been attracted to one another, Zexion and he, but neither had any experience socially dating in a situation like this. The most they'd accomplished together was Zexion giving in and dying his hair at the sink in Axel's dorm room, living a little at his friend's teasing suggestion.

And once Roxas had entered the picture, it was all over for Axel. Maybe a push in the right direction was all he'd needed after all. It was something neither he nor Zexion had known how to do, something that Roxas had accomplished effortlessly, on instinct.

Now that he was gone, Axel had known he should probably consider moving forward, maybe even exploring whatever it was Zexion had made him feel right from the beginning.

But, like a jealous lover, the dreams had kept Axel at bay, taking him back to a time and place where all he needed was blond hair, blue eyes - a prep school boy who didn't understand that, for project kids, happy endings were a rarity, if ever they occurred at all.

~ o ~ o ~

"Axel?"

The voice was tentative, far away. Fearful.

He knew he probably should've looked up at the source, tried to discern who had entered his home uninvited. But the moment Axel was conscious of the fact that the voice wasn't Roxas, any semblance of strength he might have otherwise mustered was lost on him. A low, anguished moan was all he could muster, and even that was half-hearted at best, for it rang hollow in his ears in a way that just made everything physically worse for him again. At least he'd managed to grab a bathrobe earlier on when a chill had gone through him so badly he'd imagined a window must be open. Now it was simply boiling again. Of course.

Why couldn't the voice just leave him alone?

The voice was attached to a body though, and the body crouched down before him. Gentle fingers brushed sweat dampened hair out of his eyes, until green met blue-gray, and the intruder's identity registered more fully in his mind.

"What are you doing here? How'd you get in?" Slurred together, Axel's words were difficult to understand, even to the one who had spoken them.

Zexion remained unfazed, fingers still tracing the features of Axel's face, gently soothing.

"Saix called me," he said, and unconsciously Axel's eyebrows raised just enough to convey his surprise. If Demyx thought Zexion was a drag, Saix had never shown any interest in the bookish boy whatsoever. He hadn't even been aware Saix had Zexion's phone number.

"It seems you disappeared last night without explanation," Zexion continued, voice still low and purposefully soothing. "I was...worried. So I came to check in with you, and your door was unlocked."

The words seemed accusing, as though Zexion were judging him, however neutral he tried to keep his tone.

"Don't need anyone checking up on me," Axel muttered. But even just speaking was exhausting, and another shudder visibly rippled through his body.

Zexion bit his lip, watching closely.

"You look sick, Axel. Let me at least help you back to bed so you can rest."

Rest. Rest...he didn't need rest. He needed to pass his classes. To declare a major.

He needed...Roxas.

The realization came to him slowly at first, then hit with staggering intensity. Pass his classes. Roxas. French.

Oh, shit.

Zexion was carefully lifting him up, pulling Axel's arm over the backs of his shoulders.

"What time is it," Axel demanded, his voice weak even to his own ears.

There was hesitation in Zexion's movement as he tried to hear the question.

"Sorry…what?"

Gritting his teeth a little, Axel spoke up. "The time. What fucking time is it?"

He could feel Zexion tense under him, vaguely realized he was being a bit harsh on someone who'd come over to help him. Fine, except he didn't need any help and definitely not from Zexion, someone around whom his feelings were still confused, unpredictable.

"I-I don't know…for sure, I mean," Zexion said, the stammer in his voice almost endearing to Axel if he didn't feel like such unadulterated shit right now. "But," he was quick to rush on, "I think it was about nine-thirty when I got here."

They rounded the corner to Axel's bedroom as the red head let out a bit of a shuddering sigh. "Good," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I should be able to make French..."

Zexion's halt was so abrupt it almost knocked them both off their feet. As it was, the duo teetered a little bit as Zexion struggled to regain his balance underneath Axel's additional weight.

"Wh-"

"...if I hurry," Axel continued murmuring to himself as though he wasn't at all mindful of Zexion's sudden stop. He continued walking on his own, collapsing onto his bed a few paces later. Zexion' wasn't far behind him.

"You're kidding. Right? Please say you're kidding."

Axel merely looked up, eyes not entirely focused on the form in front of him. "Kidding," he said, his voice deadpan, not even a question of clarification.

The look on Zexion's face rapidly turned from confusion to panic. "You're sick. Axel, you're burning up. There's no way you can go to class today."

"Have to," Axel said, his voice barely above a mumble. "Too many absences. Don't want to get dropped from it."

Half sentences were easier than whole sentences, and Axel wasn't even sure if he honestly cared whether or not he got dropped from French at the moment. It was another class he and Roxas had taken together since he already knew Spanish and they both needed a foreign language to supplement their degree requirements.

That admission seemed to sober Zexion up though, as he clamped his mouth shut, expression quickly turning pensive. "You can't just...well, maybe you should..." he was obviously struggling to think of a solution. Eyes lighting up, he clasped his hands together, looking at Axel eagerly. "You could call the advisor's office, let them know what's going on."

Sitting up in bed onto his elbows, Axel let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, and they'll require a doctor's note, won't they?"

Zexion remained silent, might've even been holding his breath a bit.

"And I don't know about you, Zex, but I don't have a few hundred bucks to get a piece of paper that says I have a fucking head cold or something."

He sat up further, slowly enough not to have to watch the world spin out of control around him again but hopefully quickly enough to convince Zexion nothing was seriously wrong.

"Besides, I'll be fine. I can skip Stats this afternoon if you don't mind grabbing notes from someone in it."

Zexion seemed to perk up almost immediately at that suggestion. He was one level of Stats higher than Axel but their classes were adjacent to one another at the same time. It'd be easy enough to help out, which it was obvious at this point he really wanted to do. Axel just had to seal the deal and make sure his slate-haired friend didn't have a more logical reason to worry about him.

"Then I'll sleep all night and be fine by tomorrow. Plus, I won't have to deal with the stress of retaking a class a semester before graduation," he said, finishing strong, his voice a fountain of confidence. He hoped.

That seemed to do it for Zexion though, and when he next spoke, it was obvious he'd relented.

"You'll come straight home after French then?" His voice was hopeful, but still tinged with worry. "No skipping out to meet Demyx? No hanging out with Reno or anyone?"

Axel stood, if a bit unsteadily, towering over Zexion by at least a head. Unbidden, he saw a memory of himself leaning in, taking Zexion's chin in the crook of two fingers and lifting until their lips touched, remembering how much he knew he should've pulled away but hadn't at the time. The emotional distancing would come later, after he'd punished himself for his slip-up, after he'd told himself it was a betrayal against Roxas' memory. And Zexion — sweet, studious Zexion — would never say anything or try to pursue something he knew he couldn't have. At least there was that for Axel.

Mustering a grin, Axel signed the shape of an X across his left breast bone instead. "Cross my heart, hope to..."

Zexion stood motionless, as though waiting for Axel to say it, but the word caught bitterly in his throat. He pressed on, moving past Zexion and back toward the bathroom, de-robing to his waist and reaching for a clean t-shirt from the pile of laundry in the hallway.

Through his feverish haze, a gasp gave him pause.

"Axel," Zexion said, his visible eye wide with shock. "You're…"

Bleeding.

Not a lot, no, but his white bathrobe was stained red at his waist, his abdomen a dark shade of purple.

"My god," Zexion breathed, rushing forward, arm outstretched. Axel pushed his classmate aside, thinking fast.

"I cut myself last night, after I left the gym." His voice was breathless, didn't quite hide the wonder in his own tone as he looked down at the lightly weeping wound.

This was evidence. It had to be. Roxas had really been here last night, in his apartment, with him in bed.

Zexion didn't look convinced. "On what?" His voice was soft, not entirely judging, but very clearly concerned.

Axel breathed in, feeling the irritation build as he discovered just how difficult it was to form a coherent thought the way he was currently feeling.

"It's none of your business," he snapped, causing Zexion to step back a little at the force of his tone, eyes widening slighty in response. "Just wasn't watching where I was going or something," he muttered, unable to look Zexion in the eye any longer at the lie. Slowly, he made his way over to the bathroom sink, grabbing a tissue and pressing it to his stomach as he leaned heavily against the counter, trying to catch his breath. A moment later he was carefully reaching behind the mirror to grab a small gauze bandage. That should be fine. It wasn't as bad as it looked anyway, in his mind.

"Axel…" Zexion's own tone sounded guarded, as though he was thinking through his words before speaking. "You didn't do that to yourself…did you?"

Axel's laughter seemed to catch Zexion completely by surprise. "You've got to be kidding me," he rasped, eyes still lowered, shifting from Zexion's mouth to his nose, never quite lifting to meet his gaze, and finally settling back onto his abdomen as he removed the tissue and attached the gauze patch. "That's seriously fucked up, Zex. You know that, right?"

In the bathroom doorframe, Zexion shifted uncomfortably. "I know. It's just that Rox—"

"Just what," Axel cut him off, voice dangerously low. If he so much as _mentioned_ Roxas and the scars that had lined the blond's own arms, there'd be hell to pay. The thought remained silent, to Axel alone, but his threatening tone said everything he hadn't spoken out loud anyway.

Zexion picked up on it, opting to back off instead of pressing the issue. "Nothing," he said softly. "I'm just worried. I don't like seeing you sick."

"Good thing it doesn't happen often then," Axel said curtly.

Zexion was clearly struggling for words, something not often witnessed of the usually articulate college senior. A look of regret passed over his face. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to insinuate…"

Axel didn't care what Zexion had or hadn't meant to imply. He just wanted to be left alone, or at least simply left with his thoughts.

"The bus comes soon, so I should finish getting ready." Axel raised his eyebrows pointedly Zexion's way before reaching for the handle of the bathroom door, jeans and other various articles of clothing in hand.

He didn't turn back as he made his way still a bit shakily down the hall toward his room. The sound of his voice ringing out was a biting parting gift of words to Zexion's ears.

"Since you seemed to get in here without difficulty, I'm sure you can find your own way out just as easily."

~ o ~ o ~

Attending French class had not been the best idea, in retrospect. It'd been hard enough to remember which bus stop to get off at, let alone how to conjugate and speak the subjunctive in a full room of students. All it'd taken was one bumbling, slurred response on his part, and the teacher hadn't bothered to call on him again for the remainder of the hour.

She had given him plenty of strange looks throughout class though. By the end of it, he was just relieved to be done. One more day of class this week, and he could simply rest…maybe with Roxas.

The thought induced a thrill of excitement that traveled upward, from deep within his stomach, ending in flutters of anticipation in his chest. It was knocked momentarily aside by the mental note that he also had a full day ahead of him tomorrow, with both school in the morning and work later that afternoon. Thankfully, Fridays were just French for him, but he also had to remember to fill out his major declaration form before he ended up mounted on the wall behind Tifa Moore's desk, or something equally unsavory.

Heading out of class, Axel had had every intention of honoring Zexion's wishes and hopping the next bus home. Sleep would be nice. Sleep would bring the evening - and the hope of seeing Roxas again, if he were truly being honest with himself - back sooner. It was almost the only thing Axel could think about right now.

But then, Axel saw _him_.

Or ran into him, rather. Spiked hair, blue eyes, and a form-fitting t-shirt with some sort of Asian characters across the chest. _Roxas_.

"Roxas?" The word repeated itself, escaped his lips before Axel could even think to hold it back or consider the situation.

The boy looked at him with blank incomprehension for a moment. Blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes. But these were not the eyes of someone who recognized Axel. A moment later, something inexplicable changed, almost as though understanding was beginning to dawn on the shorter student.

And with understanding came a look of…fear?

It was all Axel could do not to pull the boy into his arms and hold him, reassuring him that everything was alright, that they could go home together and rest until his throbbing, burning fever wore off.

It was then that Axel noticed the girl.

The boy was accompanied by a girl, with dyed hair the color of red wine. Visibly Asian. And upon closer inspection, the boy shared some of her features, things that definitely differed from how Roxas had looked. _Or looks now_, Axel forced himself to think. _No more past tense. He's still here, waiting for evening to come, just as you are…if this all isn't some sort of fucked up dream, that is._

And this one's hair was different, much darker. And Roxas would never have worn a t-shirt so tight outside of a club setting. Axel knew him too well. And…

"You've got the wrong person," the girl spoke up, grabbing the boy by the elbow as she tried to tug him away. "Sorry."

So he had, and Axel knew it. But his mind still screamed that it could be Roxas. It might be Roxas. It looked _so much_ like Roxas. And no matter how different the boy actually was from his own boyfriend, Axel felt a sting of jealousy as he saw the girl touch him, pull him in the opposite direction, away from this spot. And those eyes and that inexplicable fear would stay with him for hours after the encounter.

He watched them for as long as they were visible. For some time even after, Axel stared at the spot where they'd disappeared up and over a small rise in the campus green and around a bend. Why couldn't it have been Roxas? Or, a more nasty thought unquestionably, why couldn't that kid have died instead of his boyfriend? They looked so alike. Why did fate have to be cruel to the one _he_ loved?

_Because things are always harder for people who are different_, an unidentifiable voice assaulted his mind. _Because sometimes the people we trust the most betray us as children. Because it's difficult for people to understand attractions that are different to what they themselves are accustomed to._

And with that pretty, almond-eyed girl hanging off him, that kid had been straight, Axel thought with bitterness. Maybe none of this would've happened if he'd been straight. If he hadn't pushed him too far, maybe Roxas wouldn't have decided to…

A bruising slap to the shoulder shook him out of it. In his current state, Axel had to struggle not to fall forward, or topple straight to the ground, in his present condition of unbalanced illness.

"Heyyyyy, man," a long drawling voice greeted him. "You better not have plans for Saturday night."

Demyx.

Axel turned a bit unsteadily to face his friend, noting the large string instrument case he had strung casually over his shoulder, a thick folder of what was no doubt sheet music clasped under one arm. "Saturday," he echoed, his voice turning up as though in question.

"Hell yeah, Saturday," Demyx continued on, somewhat oblivious to Axel's current state of distress. "Reno's off-campus connections got him into the Violet Hour. You know, that swanky club up on second."

Axel did know. It was expensive, yes. An impressive venue, without question. It was also where a lot of drug dealers hung out, spending their stolen earnings on expensive booze and even more expensive women. Was Demyx being serious? Axel found himself at a loss for words.

"You okay, man? I thought you'd think it was bomb ass, us getting on the list to a place like that."

In a way, it was. Without a shitload of money or some serious connections - which Reno apparently had - there was no chance of them getting into a club like that on any night of the week, let alone a Saturday. And normally Axel liked parties well enough. They were good distractions. Problem was Axel didn't know if he wanted to be distracted this time around.

"I just feel crappy," he said, knowing full well how absolutely awkward it would be to have to talk to Demyx about anything relating to emotions. "Think I'm coming down with the flu or something."

Giving him a quick once over, Demyx nodded dismissively. "Sucks man. The party's gonna be great."

Axel returned the nod, but didn't say anything. The brown-haired, blue eyed boy was still in the forefront of his mind. He'd looked so much like Roxas. And Axel had been so close to reaching out and touching.

"Well, rest up and come if you're feeling better. Maybe invite that blue-haired dude or whatever, if you're still into guys," Demyx said, breaking Axel out of his momentary stupor. "Gotta get to English before I lose points for stupid shit, ya know."

Axel did in fact know, having been skirting the line himself between passing and failing miserably at everything school-related he tried lately. Demyx didn't seem to be looking for much of an answer though, so he just nodded again and adjusted his messenger bag over his own shoulder.

"Yeah. I'll think about it."

Demyx was gone quickly, leaving Axel alone, thoughts of brown hair and scared eyes still invading his mind loud and clear.

Brown hair…like blond, except darker. And Axel knew well enough what simple hair dye could do. Roxas had never dyed his hair, had looked offended the one time Axel asked if he'd bleached it some time ago. But he'd always loved Axel's red hair. He'd said it reminded him of flames, bright red and spiked out. He'd said it'd made Axel look hot.

And although the new version of Roxas who was visiting now had said he liked Axel's hair its natural color, he hadn't said it with the same intensity or lust that the old Roxas had used when he'd straddled Axel's lap and run his hands through spiked tresses so many times before…

Very suddenly, Axel knew what he had to do. Turning on his heel, Axel left the campus green without a second glance back.

He passed the academic advising office with only a slight hesitation. He'd promised to turn in his major declaration form, yeah. He'd do it tomorrow though. More important things first.

Down, down the campus sidewalks until he hit the main road at University Avenue. Down, down University Ave until he encountered the bus stop where he waited with barely concealed impatience. The 6 line that would've taken him back home to his apartment, back home where he could've rested and fulfilled his promise to Zexion from earlier that morning, was ignored as it stopped, let out passengers, and subsequently passed him by. It was the 12 he was looking for.

The 12 would bring the fire back, both for him and hopefully Roxas as well.

~ o ~ o ~

Axel's hands were covered in alarmingly bright red liquid, pouring in rivulets from his arms to his hands and on down to the shower floor. There it snaked erratically, little by little into the bathroom drain. Shaking from the exertion of simply standing for a prolonged period of time, Axel wiped down his hands again and let out a shuddered breath. It'd been a while since he'd done this.

At least it was a brighter shade than blood. He'd never been squeamish of the stuff until after Roxas…after last Halloween, that is.

He stumbled out of the shower, dizzy, face flushed as he made his way over to the bathroom sink and mirror. Grabbing an old towel on his way, he rubbed the last remnants of red off his arms and braced the countertop as he gazed directly into the mirror ahead of him.

Fire gazed back, and the irony of the appearance of dampened flames wasn't lost on Axel in the slightest. Gently, so as not to pull out much more of the dye, Axel toweled down his hair, squeezing the ends, all the while trying to ignore the blurry edges of his peripheral vision telling him he needed sleep, needed to lie down before his body gave out entirely.

His eyes trailed down his chest, down the tight muscles of his stomach until they came to a rest on the lowest point of it that could still be called his abdomen. He stared at it with undisguised wonder. Black and blue but no sign of bite marks. How was Roxas doing it? How was he managing to make Axel feel anything at all?

_He's come back to you for a reason_, Axel told himself, vaguely remembering his dream from earlier this morning. _He's come back because he loves you and wants to be with you. He's not really dead. Just different._

But not so different that Axel couldn't still love him.

His gaze moved back up to his hair and face. The person looking back at him appeared haunted and exhausted. Although the newly dyed hair helped even out his complexion, Axel was vaguely aware of how sickly he must have looked with his natural, darker coloring. His face was pale, green eyes dull, with dark circles rounding out beneath his lower lids.

What did Roxas see in him? He looked like death. What had Zexion seen in him, for that matter, since Roxas' own death?

_Not dead_, he reminded himself. _Just different. And he'll come to see me again and things'll feel okay again, if only for a little while._

It was only mid-evening though, so homework first. Maybe some food. Along with the hair dye and shampoo, Axel had picked up some basic groceries at the local drug store. Chicken noodle soup felt like it'd hit the spot quite nicely, if he had to eat anything at all.

So he heated food up, curled up with it in his bed as he tried to skim through some French. By now it was obvious he was running a fever though, and the words swam before his eyes uncomfortably, forcing him to look away every few minutes and try to refocus them before settling back into the reading selection.

Before long, it became difficult to keep his eyes open. His head was aching, his abdomen stung. Frustrated, Axel glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand.

Only a little past eight.

By 8:30, his neck was aching something terrible. By quarter 'til nine, his head was resting on a pillow, eyes staring vacantly past his French text and to the window at the other end of the room. Only thoughts of Roxas kept sleep a little further at bay.

Roxas. Axel so desperately wanted to see Roxas, to touch him. To hold him.

But he was so exhausted, felt so sick…

Axel's eyes began to close of their own volition. Roxas would wake him up though, his last conscious thoughts assured him. He'd done so other nights. He'd do so tonight as well.

Then there was just darkness, a sense of unsteady, unconscious peace.

If Roxas entered Axel's house that night, the red-head wasn't aware of it and, come morning, Axel woke to find himself in his bed in the same position he'd gone to sleep in.

Absolutely alone.


	6. Chapter 4: Loving and Giving

**Friday November 4, 2011**

_Friday's child is loving and giving…_

The day Roxas died his parents took a last minute red-eye flight from California back to the East Coast.

They'd been vacationing in San Diego, taking a weekend off to stay at one of their many properties throughout the country. While they were enjoying tropical West Coast weather, Roxas was trembling uncontrollably, held in terror-stricken arms, bleeding out on Axel's bathroom floor.

Axel rarely bothered to replay memories of that night in his mind. It was always too painful, each detail so utterly drawn out it was nearly unbearable, yet always over too quickly where it really mattered.

His dreams were another matter entirely. Though becoming more and more infrequent as time passed, that night still haunted his unconscious a year after the event.

He'd gone to get pizza. Mushrooms, with double cheese and an extra side of garlic sauce. It had been Roxas' favorite, a treat they sometimes indulged in on weekends while they studied together.

Roxas lived in the dorms by choice, a sophomore still excited by the prospect of making new friends. Maybe he would've tired of dormitory living with time. Maybe he'd have wanted to move off-campus, into the numerous homes for rent around their school, like most of the wealthier kids did after their first couple of years. Or maybe Roxas' parents would have bought him a home of his own to rent out to friends. It wasn't unheard of, and the Williamsons definitely had the money for it. At that moment though, Roxas had seemed content to remain where he was, where Axel had no choice but to live as a condition of his scholarship.

After October, Axel had disappeared from the dorms. He'd needed to once word had gotten out about what had happened. There were too many rumors, too many pitying stares. Reno, the only one of his friends who lived off-campus, had let him take up space in his living room until Axel managed to petition the scholarship committee to release him from his living obligations for Spring semester onward. He'd lost a little financial aid as a result, had needed to pick up a job at Made in Clay Ceramics in Uptown in order to pay off-campus rent. In the end, it had been worth it though. In the beginning, it had made sense to move away from the memories.

If only the memories had been content to remain on campus themselves.

~ o ~ o ~

No matter how hard he tried, Axel found he couldn't remember anything from that evening before his arrival at the hospital with any real clarity. Except Roxas. Except the blood.

Someone must have called an ambulance. Maybe Axel had even done it himself, although he didn't remember having to wipe blood off his phone the day after, even though he'd been covered in it at the time. Apart from his own pleading voice, there'd been an eery silence that permeated his memories whenever he returned to that moment on that evening in late October. Whether it had truly been that silent remained a mystery to Axel. When the paramedics arrived, he vaguely recalled them trying to pry him away from Roxas with considerable difficulty. They wouldn't have done that without speaking, right?

Yet Axel could recall no orders from them, no words at all. He just remembered the feeling of being pulled away from the only person who had ever told him he was loved and had seemed to actually mean it.

Things became clearer at the hospital, which he'd been able to get to thanks to Saix's quick thinking and a kind-hearted freshman who'd been willing to lend his car to them both. To the best of Axel's knowledge, Saix had never brought up the scene he'd witnessed in the hospital waiting room. It was something for which Axel would be forever grateful.

The attending physician wouldn't release any information about Roxas' condition until his parents had arrived several hours later. By then, Roxas was gone. The doctor's words only confirmed what Axel had already suspected but up until that point hadn't truly let himself believe.

Blood. So much blood, and Roxas muttering incoherently, eyes half opened but not truly seeing. Axel's panicked voice had occasionally seemed to attract his attention, but it had been fleeting at best, as though something beyond Axel was holding the blond's attention much more acutely than his boyfriend's choked sobs ever could.

It had been in his eyes from the beginning though, that distant look. Peacefulness soon overtaking.

But still, Axel hadn't wanted to believe it, probably wouldn't have if Mrs. Williamson's shrill voice hadn't pulled him out of a stupor borne of shock and disbelief.

"It was you," she had shrieked.

Surprised, both Axel and Saix had looked up from their seats at the blonde woman whose make-up had been irreparably smeared down her face in erratic streaks.

"I told him not to get involved with your kind of people," she'd continued, her voice nearly unintelligible through her sobs. By her side, Roxas' father held her tightly but said nothing.

"Drugs," she'd cried, burying her face into her husband's shoulder. "You probably got him into drugs and gangs and all sorts of risky behavior, and this is how it ended for—"

"Shut _up_."

By Axel's side, Saix had stood, fists clenched, voice tight. The fury written plainly across his face only served to accentuate the sharp edges of the scar that criss-crossed his features. Saix knew all about gangs and the consequences of crossing them at an inopportune time, Axel realized. It was also a sore spot for the young man, although his most recent outburst had seemed to surprise him as much as it had the room's other three occupants.

Saix looked down, unsure if he should take his seat again or remain standing. In a show of support, Axel rose to his feet, if a bit unsteadily, although Saix seemed not to initially notice, eyes trained on the ground as he seemed to try to control his next response. "It wasn't anything like that," he said, this time more quietly. "None of us has anything to do with gangs or drugs."

Turning in her husband's arms, Mrs. Williamson fixed an anguished look on both boys across from her. "You're lying," she said, although her voice was anything but certain now. "It had to be _something_…there had to be a reason for this." The more she spoke, the higher her voice rose with desperation, until Axel had thought she might start yelling again.

It was at that moment that Roxas' father had offered a soft sound of comfort to his wife, trying to quiet her. It was only a moment later that Axel's gaze fell on the man's features. They were so similar to Roxas', from the round curve of his face to the way he pursed his lips when he was upset to…the haunted look in the blue eyes of someone remembering something they'd been trying to repress for years.

Axel froze as he quickly pieced the underlying meaning of that look together in his mind.

He had known. In that moment, Axel realized that Roxas' father must have had an idea of what his own son had gone through, might have even gone through something similar himself. And in that moment, there was no one Axel hated more in the world than his boyfriend's father, a man who had known about his son's suffering and might have been able to change things. Roxas might still be alive.

"Coward!"

The word had been harsh as Axel forced his voice back to life after hours of silence, out of a throat tightened from worry and repressed sobs of his own. He'd advanced on Roxas' father, paying no further attention to his wife. If she was blaming Axel, she probably didn't know. Roxas' father had to though.

He could still be alive. Roxas might've still been alive if not for his own father's silence. They could still be eating pizza and watching TV, falling asleep together on an otherwise uneventful Halloween night. Instead, he was in a hospital, its sterile white-washed walls suffocating, closing in all around him. Taking Roxas further away.

Axel wanted to destroy something. To tear or rip or _burn_ it to ashes. First his dad, then Roxas. Everyone always fucking left him.

Before he could land the first punch, he was being restrained, two pairs of sturdy hands pulling him back, one of them Saix's, the other belonging to one of the attending physicians. He struggled to free himself but the fight was already leaving him as images of the evening flashed through his mind. TV. Pizza. Roxas. Razors, Roxas, blood.

"This is your fault," he spat, ignoring the widening eyes of the woman by Mr. Williamson's side. "_You knew_. You could've done something."

But then he'd been shuffled out a set of doors, away from his boyfriend's family, dragged toward an empty room where he could calm down. Where there was nothing to do but sit and be forced to process the horrors of the last few hours on his own.

That was the last time Axel saw either of Roxas' parents. He wasn't invited to the funeral.

~ o ~ o ~

When Axel finally opened his eyes the next morning, it was well past 10. For a moment, he simply stared at the clock on his nightstand, eyes unseeing. He'd set his alarm for 9. Unconsciously he must have shut it off over an hour ago, although he couldn't even remember its shrill ring in the recesses of his memory. Now he was going to miss French yet again. Almost certainly.

Strangely enough, the realization struck a chord of indifference within him.

French. Who cared? Roxas hadn't come to visit, or at least hadn't woken him up if he had. Nothing mattered but him. Pas du tout.

He lay back down, curling into himself. That tender spot on his collarbone no longer stung, although his abdomen was still sore. In a way he preferred the ache to the numbness that likely would've otherwise engulfed him. It reminded him of Roxas. It reminded him of life.

His eyes traveled his room searchingly, but nothing seemed out of place. There was no indication anyone had been here other than him. And Zexion from yesterday.

This couldn't be. Why hadn't Roxas visited? Or perhaps he had but Axel had been sleeping too soundly to notice his presence. That had to be it. Already the ache of loneliness was settling back in. All because he'd slept for over 12 hours last night. He couldn't let it happen again.

Pushing himself up into a seated position, Axel mentally took note of the status of his own precarious health. He felt better than he had last night. 14 hours of sleep would do that to you. He still wasn't one hundred percent though, might even still have a minor fever, although it was much improved from the state he'd been in this time yesterday morning.

As he got up and retrieved some clothing, Axel was vaguely aware that he was in serious trouble for having missed French. What had Tifa Moore said? One further missed class and the teacher could drop him?

Well, fuck it. Roxas was more important than French.

It was hard to believe only a little more than a day had passed since Axel had last seen him. For all the longing he was holding onto, it already felt like so much more time had passed than in reality actually had.

It was a dark and dreary November day from the looks of it. No additional light filtered in through the windows in his apartment, making it look like evening already. Axel made his way to the living room, turning on the light near his couch to add some artificial brightness to the room. As he moved, his tired eyes searched each area, hopeful for signs that someone else had been present in the room at some point over the past twenty-four hours.

Nothing.

His mind was still processing things slowly, not yet completely breaking out of the sluggish hold of sleep from earlier. It didn't make sense to him that Roxas wouldn't have come. Hadn't he promised to? No, actually. Roxas hadn't actually said those words. He'd been very much focused on the immediate except for one small mention at a time that already seemed so far removed.

Soon. He'd said soon on Halloween night. Nothing more specific than that.

It stood to reason that the blond must have had a good justification not to visit last night. With a mild sense of worry as he made his way to the bathroom, Axel wondered if Roxas might be in trouble or need help in some way. Not that he could imagine what kind of trouble someone like Roxas could even get into. Everyone had liked him in life, had sincerely mourned him in death.

Nothing was out of sorts in the bathroom. Except his hair, Axel noted, bleary eyes taking in erratically splayed tufts from having slept on it wet last night. Using one hand to turn on the sink faucet, another to pull a small swiss army set out of his pocket, Axel flipped one of the knives in and out rhythmically as he waited for the water to warm.

Roxas had used something similar on his arms long ago, Axel had assumed. Very few of the cuts marking the lightly bronzed skin of his arms had been fresh. Instead, the raised white lines had criss-crossed up most of his boyfriend's right arm, only a few marking his left. In some of his nightmares, Axel imagined them red and weeping, all the way up Roxas' arms, bleeding out even faster than they had done the night he had died. Red, once his favorite color, had now turned into something to fear. To loathe.

Axel's thoughts were wandering places he didn't want them to go. Not when he was feeling like this. Not ever really. Perhaps because of the dreams he'd had last night they were more predisposed to linger on unpleasant images, but that didn't mean he would let himself get caught up in them. He had to find out what had happened to Roxas. Or at least prepare himself for the blond's next visit.

Flipping the knife definitively closed and sliding it back into his pocket, Axel assessed the damage and inwardly groaned. He hadn't been off when he'd noted his hair was an absolute mess. Cupping some water between both hands, Axel splashed his face once, hair twice to wet it down, then reached for a bottle of product underneath the sink.

He was out of practice with spiking his hair, the movements slow at first until he got back into the groove of it. Slowly, laboriously, Axel ran his hand through already naturally thick hair, adding product and sculpting adeptly into multiple spikes.

When he was finished, he surveyed his work, satisfied with the harsh red color, the sharply spiked tufts. Roxas had loved to run hands through his hair, effectively ruining the spiking in the process, but leaving Axel's hair a lot softer for the effort and still styled in places. Roxas' styling.

It looked good now. He _felt_ good. Axel left the bathroom feeling more like himself than he had in ages.

The feeling was short-lived however, for as he made his way back into the living room, toward the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast of whatever he had available that was still edible after three weeks without new groceries, Axel's gaze fell on his old couch. It was there where he'd seen — first really _seen_ — Roxas in this new incarnation. He'd been too hungover the night before then to take the first experience as anything more than a vivid dream.

He remembered the surprise and shock, hunched shoulders. The _shriek_.

Shifting over to the lamp on one end of the couch, his eyes seemed to make the connection before his mind had fully processed what he was taking in.

The light. He'd been able to turn the light on.

Not broken, bulb blackened from its internal wiring failure. Not flickering weakly as all his other lights had whenever Roxas was nearby.

This light was on, illuminating the room with a strong, steady glow.

Axel blinked, still uncomprehending.

Was he still sleeping? Was he dreaming now?

No dream had ever felt this realistic to him, if so. Axel quickly ruled it out.

He couldn't explain this logically, didn't want to think about the implications even slightly if it meant questioning all those other things he was holding onto so tightly right now, all those other things about the reality of Roxas' continued existence.

Instead, he simply approached the light and, with fingers lightly trembling, turned it off.

Off. Dark. As it should be, since the light hurt Roxas' eyes…

~ o ~ o ~

Axel got the call from work when he was halfway to school. Even having skipped French class, he had somehow remembered his major declaration sheet was due today. Then, it was off to work until close. Then, Roxas hopefully at home.

Except it wasn't, in either case.

Axel had been terrible at responding to phone calls lately, between his cell being generally dead and the ease with which he was able to ignore voicemails. He recognized the number though, not as a friend, but as a co-worker.

A quiet, subdued voice met his ear from the other end of the line, and Axel listened almost without comment as Isa asked to call in a favor, a shift swap at work so he could have Friday off, while Axel took Saturday.

He had no idea what he'd do with the extra time, but Axel figured it'd be fine, didn't really even stop to think about whether he wanted to switch shifts. If it meant he had one less thing to do today before seeing Roxas tonight, fine by him.

As he made his way over to the counseling office, Axel passed the campus green where he'd mistaken a brunet boy with similar features for Roxas yesterday. The realization that it hadn't been his boyfriend stung, and it still ached deeply in his chest to bring up the image of that boy, presumably walking to class with his girlfriend. Even if the two were just friends, it was a step forward from what Axel himself had at the moment.

Roxas had always been so confident in public, able to make friends almost instantly with anyone the pair encountered. While Axel wasn't lacking in friends, he also didn't go out of his way to make them. Zexion had been a strange exception to the rule that the people he hung out with be project kids. Same for Roxas, although that had been more forceful, more a result of the blond's own efforts rather than Axel's willingness to open up.

He remembered the easy way Roxas used to walk with him, the subtle but not quite unnoticeable way Roxas had let his own body brush against Axel's as they moved side by side. They never held hands in public. Even Roxas knew that that was asking for trouble at a conservative school with a large, religious student body. In private, he couldn't seem to get enough of Axel though, making up for lack of contact by touching him as often as possible.

Thinking of that, coupled with the images of Roxas together with him over the past two days, evoked a pleasant heat within Axel even now.

It was in public where Roxas had been most in his element, and his preferred activity to get away from the books had always been playing pool. While Axel's childhood friends had always been uninterested in the student union, opting for hang-outs off-campus, Roxas seemed to think it was a cool place to loosen up. He'd been a freshman though, Axel reasoned, and relatively sheltered as an only child back home. Everything college life had to offer him was a new experience, a freedom from a stifling life in a Connecticut manor. College had been different for Axel too, yes. But it was just another side of the same coin for the red-head. He'd had responsibilities in high school, and he had them now too. Unlike Roxas, Axel wasn't secure enough to be able to afford any mistakes.

Without realizing he was doing it, Axel had veered over to the student union, entering through a side door and making his way to the basement lounge one floor below.

How many times had he come here with Roxas to chalk up and play a game of eight ball? And Roxas had always had plenty of friends to chat with as they played. He'd speak with Axel too, but always in a subtly suggestive tone that would drive Axel half crazy and, on more than one occasion, lose him the game.

"_This is so fucking boring for me, Rox," he'd said once as they were heading back to the dorms._

_Roxas had merely looked at him, mild surprise coloring his features._

"_What, because it's on-campus, or because I keep beating you?" The blond's lips had curved up into a knowing smile, which Axel had struggled to ignore._

"_Everything on campus is so prissy," he'd responded, ignoring Roxas' teasing. "And I'm tired as hell of having to keep up this stupid fuckin' facade all the time around you."_

_At this, Roxas had slowed his pace, eyes darting around them to verify no one was listening in. "I thought you didn't want your friends knowing about…you know."_

_It was true. Axel hadn't. But it was different to be hiding it from people they didn't know because of misguided religious beliefs instead of hiding it because you just didn't admit to being homosexual in the company Axel kept. That's what he told himself, at any rate, but even then Axel knew the similarities between hypocrisies outweighed the differences at this point._

_Instead of voicing any of this though, he just shrugged. "They're not very good friends if they can't handle this," he said, wishing to god he actually believed it entirely himself._

_Roxas was watching him very carefully now, Axel knew, but he didn't know what else to say. For awhile, they walked in silence. It was Roxas who spoke first again._

"_Well, I'm open to other venue suggestions, you know. And I promise not to be too much of a granga or…whatever you call white people."_

_Axel had actually snorted at that. "It's gringo," he said, "and it's not exactly a nice thing to say."_

_Roxas grinned. "Figured as much," he said, before getting back on topic. "So, what do you say? Off-campus then?"_

_The idea of taking Roxas to any of his old hang-outs was a strange one, particularly when coupled with the image of the two of them openly dating, of the two of them occasionally touching or wrapping their arms casually around the other, like straight couples did everywhere. It wasn't exactly as unpleasant an image as Axel had initially imagined either though._

_The next time he opened his mouth to address his boyfriend, it was through the subtle curve of a smirk._

"_Sounds like a plan."_

With a sharp staccato crack, a pool stick hit one of the balls, and Axel was promptly forced back to the present, gaze falling on two boys at the pool table and a lithe little brunette moving between them. He watched for a moment, long enough to see that one of the boys was obviously trying to impress her, before he didn't want to see any more.

What he did want to do was figure out more about that brown-haired kid from yesterday who looked so much like Roxas. Anything that would keep him distracted until tonight. He could go home, obviously. It would've been next to unbearable though, thinking of all those late night moments with Roxas over the past few days while he remained alone just waiting.

Wandering around campus wasn't doing much better for him though. Maybe a little harmless research about this other guy would do the trick.

He'd need a computer for that, and a bit more skill than he probably had to dig through the school's online files, some of which were probably password protected.

There was someone who could do that easily though, and Axel was pretty sure he knew where to find him.

Without further preamble, Axel began to make his way to the school library.

~ o ~ o ~

Although St. Merritt's main campus library was expansive, covering five spacious stories with floor to ceiling bookshelves, Axel was able to find Zexion in a matter of minutes. Ever predictable, his fellow senior had holed himself up in a remote corner of the fifth floor, near the school's collection of first editions and other valuable literary artifacts. Most had been donated over the years by wealthy alumni, although some had been actual discoveries by archaeology graduate students, brought back on summer excavations.

To Axel, the library was restrictive, the smell of old books a bit nauseating. It seemed to have always had the opposite effect on Zexion though, as Axel recalled him retreating here often on Friday and Saturday evenings when the dorms had gotten too rowdy and loud to properly study, as Zexion was wont to do during every spare moment of his free time.

With earbuds in and blind to the world, Axel took a moment to stand back and simply observe his friend from an unnoticeable distance. Was he just being sensitive, or did Zexion look more dejected than usual? And if so, had Axel been the cause?

Whatever the case, Axel approached Zexion without compunction, laying a hand on his shoulder the moment he was within reach. Zexion was wearing wool, and the fabric felt abrasive against Axel's fingers, somehow appropriate at the same time, given his current mood.

The touch seemed to surprise Zexion; Axel could feel his friend start slightly beneath his fingers. Then he turned, and the appearance of surprise was made complete through what Axel could discern of Zexion's expression when half of his face was hidden beneath thick blue locks of hair.

"A-axel, hi." Zexion was quick to pull the earbuds out in one swift motion. Faintly, Axel thought he could hear some sort of classical concerto out of the small speakers. Perhaps that shouldn't have surprised him, knowing Zexion.

The budding academic straightened in his seat, turning to face Axel as he took a moment to compose himself. "How are you feeling?"

Axel shrugged. "Better after a full night's rest."

This seemed to calm his friend considerably. Although there was still a look of uncertainty in Zexion's eyes, his shoulders relaxed, facial muscles losing the tension that had been visible just moments before.

Not wanting to waste too much time with awkward smalltalk, Axel remained standing but changed the topic abruptly.

"Hey, I was wondering how much effort it would take to search for a student based on a physical description."

Zexion's one visible eyebrow rose. "It probably wouldn't be e_asy_," he replied, "but it can certainly be done. Why?"

Axel found he couldn't look his friend in the eye when he next spoke, instead keeping his gaze trained downward, locked on the slender, nearly elegant line of Zexion's fingers as they strummed a rhythmic pattern on the book over which they rested.

"I saw someone who reminded me of Roxas yesterday," he mumbled, although instinctively he knew there was no one else around to overhear. "I guess I just…wanted to…know who he was."

Zexion's expression softened, although Axel did not look up to see it. "It's not him though," he said, his tone guarded as though fearing Axel might snap at him again despite the truth in his words.

When Axel next looked up, there was obvious pain in his eyes. "I know." He _knew_. "But I thought it might be a distraction. I got called off work today and…" He paused, unsure how to continue.

_And…my boyfriend who everyone thinks is dead but me didn't show last night so I'm lonelier than usual?_

Yeah. That'd go over well.

"…I guess I was just hoping to take my mind off of…stuff," he finished a bit lamely.

The silence dragged out between them now, as it appeared Zexion was considering the proposal.

"If you're busy though," Axel cut in at last, "it's not a big—"

"No, no. It's alright," Zexion spoke up and over him, finally. A moment later, he was tucking a book under his arm, drawing his backpack up onto a woolen shoulder. "I can try to help. I don't mind."

With a quiet sigh of relief, Axel followed Zexion wordlessly out of the stacks and down to the library's basement computer lab. On a Friday afternoon, it was nearly empty, with just a lab attendant and another student taking up one corner of the room.

The attendant looked up, eyes alight with recognition as he waved in the pair's direction. Zexion returned the gesture, as well as a slight nod, before beckoning Axel over to the other side of the room, to a computer that was facing the opposite direction as the other students in the room.

Zexion took a seat, and Axel followed suit next to him, watching his friend boot up the computer in their stall.

When Zexion next spoke, his voice was hushed, likely in consideration of their current surroundings and the need for privacy, both.

"Who do you want to look up?"

Axel cleared his throat, feeling a little self-conscious. "I don't actually know his name."

Frowning just slightly, Zexion's gaze returned to the computer screen as it lit up before them. "That will make things a bit trickier," he said.

Axel figured as much. "He seemed to be coming from the freshman quad, if that helps," he offered. "I thought he might live in one of the dorms."

"Mm" was his only reply. Already Zexion was pulling up the university's website, clicking through to the four dormitories in question. Before Axel could even stop to process it, Zexion seemed to have two dozen different tabs open in one browser window, half of which seemed to be straight-up code, black text on a stark white background.

"What's this, Zex," Axel asked, his voice a whisper.

The blue haired student didn't so much as blink in response.

"Zexion," Axel tried again a little louder. This time, he was rewarded with a glance, although his friend's gaze seemed distant, preoccupied.

"What are you doing, exactly," he asked again.

"Oh." Apparently surprised that Axel didn't know, Zexion licked his lips a little, eyes returning to the PC monitor. "I'm just pulling up a list of students from each dormitory and matching them with the names they listed on their student IDs, which, not coincidentally, also in most cases have recent photos attached."

"Ah." Axel nodded, allowing his gaze to flicker over the browser window Zexion currently had up. He couldn't read any of it. "That's really cool, actually."

Again, no response. While Axel didn't want to distract Zexion from doing…whatever it was he was doing, the silence also felt awkward to him and he found himself trying to break it once more.

"So…they just have this stuff available to the public?"

At this, Zexion turned, regarding the red-head with a wry expression. "Not exactly, no." Then, eyes back to the computer, his next words were said almost as an afterthought. "Personal information like this is confidential, of course."

Yet there it was, scrolling across the screen as Zexion contributed more and more code all his own. Unable to help himself, Axel felt a grin beginning to form as he leaned in closer, chin hovering just above his friend's shoulder.

"So what you're saying is that you're hacking into private school files, all for little old me?"

Zexion flushed visibly at that. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Axel even thought he heard a tight swallow.

Clearing his throat a little, visibly uncomfortable, Zexion spoke his next words in a mumble. "Well…yes."

There was so much empathy in his expression, Axel had to turn away. It didn't dissolve the painful feeling that was beginning to well up in his chest though.

He hadn't exactly been grateful for Zexion's presence yesterday morning, hadn't felt he needed help in any way at the time. Now Axel was beginning to feel a little guilty for his terse responses to a friend's attempt at helping. Zexion hadn't deserved that. Thoughts of Roxas had just been so all-encompassing that Axel hadn't wanted to focus on anything else. It wasn't just Zexion who'd been excluded, but everyone and everything that wasn't Roxas.

Now Zexion was helping him again, without complaint, even though Axel knew he probably didn't deserve it. He wondered if he should say something, or maybe apologize for his asshole attitude yesterday.

Before he could say anything though, a window popped up onto the screen, catching his attention. Within it, picture upon little square picture of freshman boarders met Axel's gaze.

By his side, Zexion's mouth curved up into a satisfied smile. "Here we go," he said, a hint of pride in his tone.

Then, he began a slow scroll. "This is Lowell Hall," he said, by way of explanation. "Stop me if you think you see him."

Lowell's images came and went with no one Axel recognized. The same happened as Zexion scrolled through Chapman. It was the third dorm out of four where Axel found who he was looking for. Two thirds of the way down the page of images of students in Skye Hall, Axel stopped Zexion with a light squeeze on his shoulder.

"There," he said. His voice was hesitant, almost wondering as he took in the small picture of a smiling brunet with deep blue eyes.

For a moment, silence passed between the two young men as they both stared at the picture. It was Zexion who spoke up first.

"He really does look like Roxas," he said in a hushed tone.

Axel said nothing, eyes fixed on the image, then the name, and then back to the image. It definitely wasn't Roxas. His name wasn't even a close approximation. Looks were another matter entirely though.

"Does it…is there any more info on the guy," Axel found himself asking, his voice rising a little unexpectedly.

Zexion stole a glance at the red-head out of the corner of his eye. "Nothing more in this data set, except his student ID number, address, and birthdate." As Axel's hopeful expression faded, Zexion was quick to speak back up and reassure. "But that's more than enough to work with."

Again, a flurry of typing on Zexion's part, and a blank look from Axel as his friend copied info from the code at breakneck speed, then input it into Google, and pulled up page after page on the kid.

The boy's name was Sora, the son of an American corporate lawyer, a socialite Japanese mother.

Not Roxas. Not even close. Just another wealthy freshman at the same school. Same features, same expressions. Different boy, different connections.

In the end, Axel had gotten the information he'd wanted, but he still felt sickeningly empty somewhere within that could not be waylaid by minor distractions, someplace that festered with a wound too deep to ever really heal.

"Is there anything else you want to search for?" Zexion's voice effectively broke Axel out of his self-pitying thoughts, reminding him again that he'd been a completely shitty friend of late to just about everyone who mattered and was still alive.

He pushed back his chair a little, dragging his eyes from the PC screen. "No. I think I'm good now."

Nodding, Zexion turned back to the screen and began deleting code, clearing the browser history, and whatever the hell else computer geniuses did to cover their tracks. Axel watched in silence for a moment, before coming to a decision in his mind.

Placing a light hand on Zexion's arm to catch his attention, he tried to keep his voice nonchalant, unconcerned.

"Thanks. For doing this, I mean."

One visible eye looked back at him, as Zexion seemed to shrink into himself even further, almost shyly looking out at him from beneath his own cover of hair. "You're welcome. It really wasn't a big deal."

But it was, and Axel knew it. Out of all of his friends, Zexion was the only one who'd never questioned his grieving process, who had just stood by him and understood that sometimes time didn't heal the way everyone said it should. In a way, it was remarkable to Axel. He realized he'd never even begin to find a way to thank his friend.

But he certainly could try.

"There's going to be a party tomorrow night," Axel said, fixing his eyes on Zexion.

For his part, Zexion remained silent, simply waiting for Axel to continue.

"Demyx mentioned it to me. It's up at the Violet Hour and one of my friends can get us on the list. That's if you want to go with me, I mean."

A flicker of surprise that was quickly concealed was Zexion's only initial response. Then, a tentative verbal reply. "You're asking me to go with you to a party?"

Axel nodded. "I have to work first, but I'll be done by six. We could meet up around eight and head on over, if that's cool."

This felt awkward. This felt wrong. Zexion wasn't Roxas and Roxas might get upset when he found out that Axel had asked. It wasn't like he'd specifically come out and said it'd be a date though. It's not like Roxas had showed up last night when he'd been expected either, Axel thought defensively. Besides, he could explain his reasoning to Roxas tonight. This was nothing more than a thank you to Zexion for helping him out during a rough time. Nothing wrong with that, was there?

Zexion appeared to be suppressing a smile in a somewhat unsuccessful manner. It was his words that directed Axel's attention back to the present. "That'd be nice, I think. Yes, I'll go."

Axel returned the smile, thoughts still on Roxas. On remembering. "Great," he said, pushing up out of the chair and preparing to take his leave. "I've gotta run now, but I'll see you tomorrow at eight then. My place."

With that, he was gone, leaving Zexion with a surprised but subtly delighted smile that would remain with him for the rest of the day and well into the next. Axel, on the other hand, had one more thing to do before returning home to his apartment, to Roxas.

It didn't happen to be turning in his major declaration form.

~ o ~ o ~

Nothing more occurred on Friday, except that Axel visited a tattoo parlor, and Roxas didn't show up in the evening. Again.

And although both were vastly different, in the end Axel would remember them as being similarly painful, one just physically, while the other was emotional.

Despite the similarities though, only one had the possibility of hurting forever. By this point, Axel was well aware of which one happened to be which.


	7. Chapter 5: Works Hard for a Living

**Author's Note**: Er, hi. Has it really been three years?

Short explanation: Life got sucky (a breakup, best friend's death, job loss, coming out to a not-so-supportive family). Then it got better (acquired boyfriend, better job, original fiction publication awesomeness, coming out to a super-supportive group of friends). I definitely had a terrible creative block when it came to writing though. I think (hope?) that's mostly gone and done with. Sure feels like it is.

My days are pretty much booked from 5am to 11pm at the moment. The fact that this chapter exists at all is a testament to my commitment to get this story finished, I'd say. I think there'll just be one more chapter forthcoming. Maybe a short epilogue too. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Or just, you know, burn it down, like I'm often wont to do. _Cheers_.

I don't know if anyone will even see this update, but I do know a few reviews came in after I stopped writing that I thought were really awesome. Belated thank you in that regard. Reviews definitely encourage me to keep writing, so if you have any thoughts/theories to share on where you think I'm going with this fic, I'd love to read them. Also, no one beta read this chapter for me. I wrote it sort of free association-style, and gave myself one opportunity to read through and edit, so it might very well suck. Sorry if that's the case. If something's grammatically off, feel free to ping me. I'll get it sorted. Grazie, cari!

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, November 5, 2011<strong>

_Saturday's child works hard for a living... _

He woke up on the living room couch, arm curled around his best friend's shoulders, the acridly sour aftertaste of alcohol lingering in his mouth. The setting was momentarily disorienting, and even blinking repeatedly only managed to half clear his double vision at first as he scanned the room with bleary eyes.

Running his free hand through disheveled red hair, Lea groaned at the pulsations hinting at a massive, impending hangover.

By his side, his friend stirred, nuzzling deeper into the crook of his arm.

Lea shifted his weight slightly, gaze moving from his friend's mess of sky blue hair over to the coffee table in front of him where it finally seemed ready to focus competently.

Glasses and bottles littered the table, varying in size from large flask on down to shot glass. For a moment, Lea considered the possibility that his vision was still multiplying things, but no attempt at lightly shaking his head seemed to have any impact on their numbers.

"Isa," he said, voice hoarse, temples pounding a discordant rhythm that made him want to curl into himself and hold his head in both hands.

His friend made a soft sound but didn't come to.

"_Isa!_"

The word came out in a strangled hiss. Lea felt his friend move under him, body stiffening as Isa stretched his arms straight, elbows cracking at the sudden, severe extension.

"Hmm.. What time is it?" Isa's voice was heavy with the dregs of sleep.

"Dunno," Lea said, carefully untangling himself from Isa. "Too early. My head kills."

He stood on unsteady feet, body swaying as he tried to find his balance. Still on the couch, Isa rolled onto his back, stretching his arms over his head at the same time he straightened his legs and let out a wide yawn. Still in last night's clothing, the movement pulled Isa's shirt up beyond the band of his jeans, revealing just a hint of pale skin before he reached to smooth it back into place. "Yes, well, you did have a lot to drink last night."

Last night. Last night was...what again? Lea took a moment to scan the coffee table, noting that some of the glasses were still half-filled.

Slowly, it came back to him. Friends. Drinks. Party. Dad out of town for the weekend.

Dad...oh, shit.

"What time is it?" Lea asked, his voice taking on a note of urgency.

Isa sat up. "I don't know. That's why I just asked you the same thing."

Lea shoved his hands into both pockets, searching. Not finding his cell phone, he returned to the couch and began rummaging behind the cushions until he located it. "I've gotta open the store by 10. I thought I'd set an alarm."

His hand connected with something solid, and Lea rose up from the couch, cell in hand, triumphant expression gracing his features.

Until he realized..."agh, it's dead."

Sighing, Isa slid a hand into his pocket and emerged with his own phone, which blinked to life a moment later.

"It's 9:32," he said.

"Shit," Lea said, this time out loud as he scrambled to grab as many of the glasses as he could pile into his arms at one time. If he didn't haul ass, he was going to be late. Liquid sloshed out of one of the shot glasses and onto the coffee table. Bad life choices were the hallmark of being a teenager, but Lea thought he might be hitting a new low, especially if his father got home and discovered how he'd spent his Friday night.

He let out an unintelligible sound, half frustrated, half bordering on panicked as he bent down and made an unsuccessful attempt to clean up the mess with the bottom edge of his t-shirt.

"Stop, Lea, will you?"

For his part, Lea ignored the request, trying once more to stack extra glasses on top of one another. The higher the tower got, the more precariously it swayed.

Isa stood. "Give those to me. I'll take care of the mess. You go get dressed." Taking an exaggerated, delicate sniff in Lea's direction, he added, "Maybe a shower first. You definitely smell like booze."

Lea made a face at his friend, but more than willingly handed over the armful of glasses. "Thanks."

He made a mad dash for the stairs, hesitating on the second step to turn back toward Isa. "You're off tonight, right?"

Isa nodded. "Axel switched shifts with me."

"OK, cool. Meet me at the store later then. We'll go grab a late lunch. I can pay."

Then Lea was off, taking the stairs two at a time. If he was lucky, he'd still make it to his dad's store by 10 and be able to open on time.

~ o ~ o ~

Made in Clay was a modest storefront in the arts district, easily accessible by bus routes and cars. It still sucked to get to when it was raining buckets outside though, and Lea found himself sprinting from the street where he'd found a non-metered parking space, arms extended over his head, a belated throwback to the position he wished he could've curled up in earlier to stave off his raging hangover.

It had been a dream of his mother's to own an art studio, so Lea's parents had poured their life savings into purchasing the space when he was a kid. None of them had realized it would be only four years before their trio would be reduced by one.

His father could have given up the business, or hired more people to take larger roles in it so he could step back himself. Instead, he'd kept on working most weekdays, some weekends, then filled in the empty shifts with part-time workers from the local university. Lea had officially started working there himself as soon as he'd been old enough, as had Isa. Before that, he'd been a staple fixture in the store for years, volunteering to stock shelves and assist with the weekend ceramics classes. While art was neither his nor his father's passion, it had been a way to honor the memory of the one family member who'd loved it most.

In the passing years, his father had expanded the business to include importing ceramics from overseas for higher-end buyers. In the end though, the shop was primarily a space for people to discover art, take classes, and even sell the wares they'd created on-site or elsewhere. Lea felt his mother's presence in the shop every day and, as the years had gone by, it had increasingly become a comfort rather than the emotional agony it had started out feeling like in the months after her chemo treatments had waned in effectiveness and remission had become a hopeful but ultimately meaningless goal for everyone involved in the awful process.

As he unlocked the door and began prepping the store for customers, Lea let himself wonder if anything would change once he went off to college next fall. He wouldn't be near enough to help out around the store anymore, except maybe on weekends if he opted for a school within driving distance. No way was he going to snobby St. Merritt for college. Lea hadn't even applied, and he doubted his grades were good enough to justify an admission, let alone the scholarship he would've needed to make it a realistic, affordable option. He supposed he'd figure that out later. One thing at a time, right?

For the first half an hour, Lea was alone and, having forgotten the charger to his phone, ended up stuck doing actual work around the store or else risk dying of complete boredom. Thirty minutes into his shift, the weekend instructor arrived. Aerith looked pretty much how you'd expect a ceramics class teacher to. There was a very zen quality to her demeanor - peaceful, friendly. This morning, she arrived with her long hair down, swaying gently as she walked, almost perfectly mimicking the movement of her layered, ruffly pink skirt. She placed her umbrella in a bucket Lea had set up at the front of the room to ensure customers didn't slip on rainwater puddles as they entered the store.

"Any colder and this is going to turn into sleet," Aerith remarked. "It's really coming down hard out there."

"You're telling me," Lea said, leaning forward from behind the checkout counter. His hair was still a matted, damp mess of red from his dash into the store.

They exchanged a few more standard pleasantries before Aerith disappeared into the back room to set up. Students and a few actual customers began to trickle in over the next thirty minutes. Most students knew where to go, leaving Lea to handle a smattering of customer questions and purchases. Simple stuff.

Five minutes before class, Aerith poked her head around the back room's door frame. This time, her hair was up, pulled back into a messy ponytail behind her head.

"Hey, kiddo. Is Axel coming in later?"

"Yeah." Lea nodded. "Second shift."

Aerith smiled. "Perfect. I've been missing him this week."

Lea bit the inside of his cheek but didn't reply. His dad had agreed to let Axel have most of the week off, knowing it was probably going to be a tough one for the college student. If anyone could understand the importance of anniversaries of the nature Axel was experiencing this week, it was his father. Lea, too, technically. The first year really was the worst of it. After that rising crescendo of raw grief returned, it declined again, leaving a dull ache that only resurfaced on occasion, in his experience. It never completely disappeared, just became more routine, acceptably manageable.

If Aerith noted the discomfort in his silence, she didn't say anything. "Can you let him know I could use his help with the kiln this afternoon? Some of the students have greenware ready for firing."

Bisque firing was a three day process, meaning Lea would probably have to make a stop back sometime in the evening after the store had closed to check on the kiln. It was unlikely there'd be any issues with leaving the kiln to heat up at a lower temperature overnight, but his father had always stressed the importance of double checking with fresh eyes to make sure nothing was amiss, just the same. The second day of firing was when they would turn the kiln up well beyond a thousand degrees for a good eight hours, at minimum. That definitely required someone keeping an eye out. Day three was the cool-down period. Overall, the process was pretty straight-forward and hands-off. The tricky part came with loading up the kiln without completely breaking or even just cracking the greenware meant to be placed in it. Lea was decent at it, but Axel was better, even though he'd been doing it for fewer years. In a way then, it was fortuitous timing that Isa had swapped shifts with Axel today, since it became one less thing Lea had to worry about himself.

"Will do, sure," Lea said. For a moment, he considered asking her if she had a phone charger he could borrow. Aerith had always been sort of a hippie when it came to technology though, so the odds weren't great that she would. Lea opted out in the hopes of avoiding having to explain why his phone was dead first thing in the morning.

Oblivious to his inner musings, Aerith smiled, blew a kiss his way, and then vanished into the back room again.

For the next two hours, Lea puttered around the store, helping out customers and keeping the floor clear of rain and other debris dragged in from outside. The weather was cruddy enough that, apart from students arriving for and leaving from Aerith's classes, actual customers were few and far between. To say Lea had regrets for having forgotten his charging cord at this point? Yeah, that'd have been a major understatement.

At least things would pick up once Axel was around to chat with. He hoped, anyway.

To Lea, Axel was a bit of an enigma, not necessarily because he was all that mysterious; he was ... just... _cool_. An effortless awesome, in Lea's mind, someone he wouldn't mind ending up like himself once he hit college (hell, even before). Not only did Axel possess an edgy quality and appearance, he also came complete with a devil-could-care attitude and somehow still managed to charm Lea's considerably traditional father who'd been hesitant to even hire him in the first place, mistaking Axel's appearance as an implication of delinquency.

Mainly, Axel seemed like he would've been just the type of person who was more likely to make fun of klutzy, geeky Lea all throughout high school, rather than treat him humanely.

Yet Axel had always acted friendly in Lea's presence. Yeah, the college student was an employee at his dad's business, but that didn't necessarily guarantee politeness when his dad wasn't around. It's not like Lea was the type to go crying back to daddy if someone was being mean to him, and most people knew it. He wasn't _that_ lame.

Axel hadn't ever seemed to mind chatting in between work tasks though. Lea's dad liked Axel because he never had to ask him to do something more than once, and often not even then. The kid had a strong work ethic, his dad had said more than once, high praise from a veritable curmudgeon of a man. And Lea liked Axel because, much like with Isa, he could just be himself around him. They didn't share tons of the same interests, but Axel had never once responded derisively to anything Lea admitted to obsessing about, even when it was ridiculously geeky. He hadn't even batted an eyelash when Lea had somewhat awkwardly asked how to dye his hair a similar color as Axel's had been before he'd let it fade back out to his natural coloring over the past year.

It was probably safe to say Lea somewhat idolized Axel.

That was probably why Lea still felt like shit for not knowing what to say after he'd heard about Axel's boyfriend last year. The circumstances around that death had been different than with his mom, and it wasn't like anything anyone had ever said to him made any difference in how he felt. It didn't change the fact that Lea felt like he should've said _something_ in the weeks that followed the death. By the time he'd narrowed down his options of condolences enough to consider choosing one, Axel had seemed to be pulling himself back together, and Lea definitely didn't want to be the catalyst that broke him back apart.

There was also the surprise that Axel had been, well - gay. He still is gay, you dumbass, Lea silently reminded himself, as he scanned an inventory list in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the monotony of this slow-ass day.

It was just that Lea hadn't expected the gayness...thing. He'd built up such a specific image of who Axel was in his mind that he'd filled the gaps of personal information he hadn't known with explanations out of his own imagination. The gay bit hadn't been part of that. His father, although surprised as well, had taken it in stride, offering sympathy and allowing Axel time away from the shop to grieve. It was Lea who'd spent hours trying to imagine Axel dating another male long after he'd first found out.

Checking off items down his inventory list with increasing ferocity, Lea told himself he didn't have a problem with gay people; he just didn't understand them, hadn't met any others before Axel. His entire worldview on the subject consisted of stereotype after stereotype stacked one over the other, of fabulously flamboyant femme guys parading like a visual ticker-tape in his mind. And, hell, _he_ was arguably more femme than Axel, so how did that align with his uninformed assumptions? Unless Axel's boyfriend was the more feminine one. Maybe that was it. Lea had never met the guy though, so it'd be hard for him to say one way or another.

He'd often wondered about Isa as well, if Lea was being completely honest with himself. Soft spoken but thoughtful, his friend had never shied away from platonic displays of physical affection with Lea. In middle school, Isa had been a hand-holder, always eager to connect with Lea in that way when they traveled to and from school together - until the day they'd both been called fags by a group of classmates on the bus ride home. Lea hadn't understood what that word even meant at the time, just knew it had encouraged his best friend to stifle his own naturally warm disposition, to withdraw publicly from most unnecessary interactions with others. And that, to be frank, was utter bullshit, in Lea's mind.

It was better now, especially when they were alone. Isa had never returned to hand holding, but their time together had eventually settled back into subtle shows of affection - sitting shoulder to shoulder while playing video games, ruffling each other's hair during moments of amusement or mischief.

...Falling asleep on the couch together after an evening of underage drinking. That too.

Even though he knew it wasn't the same type of relationship, Lea wondered, vaguely, if Axel had enjoyed moments like those with his boyfriend before he had died. Part of him really hoped so.

The shop door was wrenched open to the sound of howling wind, and Lea's attention was once more forced into the present. He sat up a little straighter when he saw the identity of the new arrival. It was an unconscious action, performed in the face of someone he looked up to.

"Kinda hellish out there, huh?" Lea swung his legs side to side on the stool he'd been perched on, before hopping off retrieve the mop he'd been using to dry the floor every time someone entered.

"You're telling me," Axel said, shaking his head almost like a dog to rid his hair of extra rainwater. Even though he'd spoken the same phrase first to Aerith earlier, Lea found an embarrassed blush creeping up his neck at the realization that he'd probably coopted it from Axel at one point in the past. He had a tendency to do that, mimicking people he admired. Real smooth.

A flash of fire hydrant red caught Lea's eyes, and he looked up, staring with an overabundance of intensity in Axel's direction, mop momentarily forgotten. Lea watched as Axel shrugged out of his long, leather coat and moved to hang it up on the employee coatrack behind the register, still taking in the violently red hair color he'd gotten accustomed to not seeing over the past year.

"You'd think it was, like, April or something," Lea finally said in an attempt to break the ice, while stealing another glance at Axel's hair, "with this crazy-ass weath-"

As Axel turned to fully face him, the word died in Lea's throat, replaced with another, way less schooled reaction.

"Whoah," he said, unable to pull his eyes away from Axel's face. "When'd you get those?"

Axel looked nonplussed. "Yesterday."

"They look cool," Lea said. He swept the mop across the entranceway, stabbing a larger puddle with a muffled, sloshy noise as he tried to look less interested than he actually was. He was pretty sure his dad would _murder_ him if he ever got a tattoo. And if he inked his face? Well, let's just say there were probably far worse fates than homicide that his dad could mete out.

Unable to completely curb his curiosity, Lea leaned forward onto the mop's handle and continued to gawk. "Did they...hurt?"

Axel shrugged. "Life hurts."

_And then you die_, Lea finished, not quite brave enough to say it out loud.

Unsure whether there was actually a deeper meaning behind Axel's words or if he was just being snarky, Lea continued cleaning the floor, searching for a way to more naturally continue the conversation. Axel was usually a lot chattier than he was being today. Not that Lea could blame him, given the circumstances. It just made things more awkward.

"Well, they're cool," he replied. _And you're a lameball_, he told himself. _Way to say the same thing twice in under two minutes._

Mercifully, Aerith chose that moment to reappear from the back studio. Seeing Axel, she clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh, great! You made it. And your hair's realllllly red."

Axel nodded but said nothing. Stealing another look as he passed by to put away the mop, Lea noted the dark circles under Axel's eyes immediately above the tear-shaped tattoos still tinged slightly red at the edges. Unless he was way off-base, this week seemed to have taken a toll on the college student, even with having most of it off from work.

Seemingly oblivious to the somber mood permeating the room, Aerith offered Axel a bright smile. "I could use your help firing up the greenware, if you've got a moment."

Axel shot Lea a quick, questioning glance.

"We're good up front," Lea said, almost stumbling over his words in his haste to get them out. "It's been a slow day."

"Ah." Axel looked back toward Aerith. "Then, yeah, sure. I can help with that."

"Lovely! You're an absolute doll." Having accomplished her goal in securing help for the back room, Aerith twirled on one foot, her skirt a quarter revolution behind her as it billowed in her wake. She made her way back into the studio with a noticeable bounce in her step. Axel followed a few paces behind her.

That left Lea alone up front. Again. For two more hours.

He sighed, then slid two fingers across his face, wondering what it'd be like to have the balls to get tattooed over a thin flap of skin covering your skull. He was pretty sure he wasn't even marginally badass enough to ever have the nerve to do something like that.

Then, for an indeterminate time, Lea completely zoned out. At one point, he heard the kiln fire up, an indication that Axel must've gotten all the students' greenware successfully placed into it. Then nothing again, except for the rapping of rain against the storefront, like knuckles beating out an erratic, staccato rhythm against a metal drum.

Eventually a customer did arrive at the store, the dark hood of his long overcoat covering most of his features, save for a few thick tufts of bright blond hair.

Lea sat up straighter on his stool again, shook his head a little to clear it from its most recent settings of blankety-blank and bored-as-fuck as he forced himself back into customer service mode.

The newcomer stood in the entranceway a moment, smoothing the accumulated rain from his sleeves, then pulling his hood down and away from his face before approaching the register.

"Heck of a day to be out, huh?" Lea asked, keeping his tone friendly and polite, just like he'd seen his dad do on numerous prior occasions.

The customer inclined his head, regarding Lea with impassive, blue eyes. "Indeed."

"Anything I can help you with?" Lea asked. "Or are you just taking a look around?"

"I came to pick up a special order." The man spoke nearly in a monotone, a close match to the stoic expression that graced the entirety of his features. He seemed to almost be looking through Lea, rather than at him. It was an unsettling feeling, one that Lea mentally brushed aside as he slid off his stool and approached the counter.

"I can help with that," Lea said, trying not to be annoyed at the discomfort he was suddenly feeling. The first customer who'd come to spare him from the weariness of this dull-ass day and here he was, weirding himself out over something he couldn't even put his finger on. Seriously.

Pulling out a small binder from under the front counter, Lea looked toward the young man in front of him. "What name is it under?"

"Strife," the man answered smoothly.

Lea flipped toward the back of the binder, running his finger down the R section until he found the end of the S names. He looked up, inquiringly. "Cloud?"

The man nodded.

"Okay, cool," Lea said. "Just a moment. I'll wrap it up and bring it out front."

He practically scampered into the back room, toward a corner of space where his dad kept the special order imports stored in a large metal locker. With the last class of the day already finished, it was just Axel and Aerith left in the back, the latter of whom seemed to be engaging in a lively, albeit one-sided, conversation with a somewhat miserable looking Axel. Something about homeopathic something or anothers. Lea made a note to attempt a rescue mission after he dealt with the customer out front.

At least he hadn't forgotten the locker unit's key like he had his phone charger, Lea thought, as he slid a hand into his pocket to retrieve it after reaching his destination. He turned the key within the lock and stepped back to swing the unit's heavy metal door open, then stuck his head in looking for the order in question. Lea found it quickly. It was a plain-looking beveled ceramic piece, small enough to hold in one hand, its edges sloping smoothly up, then curling subtly outward so they could be gripped more easily between two fingers. Also an obscenely expensive antique of some sort, if the itemized receipt was any indication.

Damn. It'd take Lea months to save up enough to buy a piece like that. Not that he'd want to. He'd never really understood peoples' interest in spending money on old, used things.

Lea carefully transferred the item from the locker to a nearby counter, shut the storage unit, then went to work wrapping the piece in brown craft paper and placing it into a small box for extra protection. If a customer was going to spend that kind of money, it was their job to ensure it got to its final destination in one piece, his father had often lectured.

Then it was back past his coworkers, shooting Axel a sympathetic look as he caught an earful about natural remedies for seasonal illnesses on Aerith's end, before scooting back out into the main showroom.

"Here you go, sir." Lea placed the box down and slid it across the counter toward the customer. "Your account's already paid in full. Would you like a receipt of the transaction?"

The man shook his head, saying a curt "No, thank you," before retrieving his purchase, securing it under one arm, and using the other to pull the hood of his jacket back over his head. He was only a handful of paces from the exit, when Lea heard an unexpected sound behind him.

"_Roxas_?"

The man paused, but didn't turn.

Lea, on the other hand...

Roxas? Wasn't that the name of Axel's... oh. Oh, crap.

A flurry of red flashed across his vision as Axel passed him, striding hurriedly toward the man.

"Axel," Lea said, his voice cracking slightly. At any other time, it might've embarrassed him, but he was in a rush to get his warning out. "That's not -"

Too late, Lea watched as Axel placed a hand on the man's shoulder, turning him to face back into the store's interior.

Lea only caught a half-glimpse of the guy's face from beneath his hood as he regarded Axel a helluva lot more calmly than Lea himself would've had he been in the same situation.

"I think you have the wrong person," the man said, his voice smooth and low, just loud enough for Lea to parse the sentence's individual words.

Axel dropped his hand to his side, but instead of deflating at the realization of his mistake, Lea saw a glint of...what was that? Eagerness? Whatever it was, it was written plainly across Axel's expression.

"I know you," Axel said, his words slow as if trying to grasp at the connection. "From ...somewhere."

The man raised his eyebrows, blue eyes boring into green, reflecting nothing beyond a mild acknowledgement that he'd heard Axel's words. "Do you? I imagine I'd remember a face as ...distinctive ... as yours." His eyes seemed to linger over the dark tattoos under Axel's eyes, then travelled back to Lea for a moment, before veering off into the empty space between the two workers. "If you'll excuse me, though..."

He turned and this time Axel didn't move to stop him. A moment later, he had departed in a flurry of sleet and howling wind.

For a pregnant pause, Axel remained still, eyes locked on the last place the man had been seen. Lea stayed put too, watching Axel uncertainly, the discomfort at what he'd just witnessed settling deep in his chest, a heavy pitted feeling making its way down into his gut.

Lea swallowed uncomfortably, unsure how to react. "Axel?"

The word seemed to fall on deaf ears. Axel didn't even blink.

Steeling himself, Lea tried again. "Um ...hey, Axel?"

Axel turned, eyes of acid green refocusing as they located the source of the sound. "What?"

The word was spoken much more softly than Lea had expected, but even then he flinched, an involuntary reaction to the anticipation of a much angrier response.

"I just - I mean... er, are you okay?"

Axel's expression became distant, impersonal. "Yeah," he muttered. "I'm doing great."

A moment later, he turned on his heel, retreating to the studio again. This is where Axel remained for the last hour of Lea's shift.

Eventually, Isa arrived to meet Lea for lunch as they'd planned. Before heading out, Lea stopped to check on Axel and see if he needed anything, but had been waved off, Axel's focus remaining squarely on the open window into the kiln's fiery interior.

Even hours later, well after Lea's shift had ended, that image of Axel by the kiln gazing intently into the lapping flames remained with him. And the more often he revisited it in his mind, the less it made sense to Lea why it always seemed that the best people in his life ended up destined to experience the worst types of insurmountable tragedies in their own.


	8. Chapter 6: Born on the Sabbath Day

**A/N**: Here, have my current Bereaved writing playlist for this club-inspired theme: "Dangerous (feat. Joywave)" - Big Data, "Left Hand Free" - alt-J, "Seeing Stars" - BØRNS, "Get It" - Matt and Kim, "Pulsing (feat. Nina K.)" - Tomas Barfod, "Staying dotEXE Remix" - Koda (this last one I might've listened to on repeat while writing this section; the lyrics are kind of fitting, no?). Also, Koda's song, "The Last Stand"? One of the most fucking gorgeous pieces of music I've ever heard. You should listen to it.

Even after nearly 7,000 words of it, I'm not entirely convinced I know how to write from Zexion's POV for this fic, which was an awkward realization because it didn't occur to me that that might be why writing this chapter was like pulling teeth until about halfway through. Seriously, if you could've seen what it looked like half-finished, you would've doubted my general understanding of the English language. It was that bad initially. After a few revisions, hopefully it sucks a little less now. (Short epilogue forthcoming.)

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, November 6, 2011<strong>

_But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day..._

**Midnight**

They were dancing, moving so closely together, so fluidly in time with the seductive strains of music that, from afar, they might have been mistaken for a single person. All around them, others danced as well, swaying with partners or in groups in the area of the Violet Hour reserved for dancing.

Above them, lights flickered in a perfectly choreographed performance, showering them with shades and patterns that matched the variant tones in the DJ's song set. It was the kind of music you could sense in your chest, feel in your throat. Hypnotic. Engulfing.

If there was one thing Zexion never imagined himself doing, it was dancing, at a club or any other venue, for that matter. No level of studying, no amount of scouring instructional texts or, heck, even watching video tutorials online could make up for a complete lack of physical coordination on his part.

Lips brushed against the hollow of his throat, and the heady buzz in his temples blossomed, expanding to other areas of his body, to his neck, stomach, and thighs, until Zexion was surprised he was even keeping pace with Axel at all on such unsteady limbs. Vaguely, he'd remembered protesting, was almost certain he'd declined the invitation to dance, at least initially. He would never have willingly agreed to make such a fool out of himself.

That was before the drinks, the vodka, tequila, and scotch. He knew better than to drink this much, was more rational than this.

And yet...

_"C'mon, Zex. Live a fuckin' little."_

_Zexion blinked, initially stung by the reprimand in Axel's tone._

_"I just...I don't like change, Axel."_

_Axel had laughed a little, making an incredulous sound at the back of his throat._

_"It's hair dye, Zexion," he said, waving the shiny, blue box in front of his classmate's face. "It's not like I'm asking you to free jump into a canyon. Or even get a tattoo," His eyebrows waggled suggestively, "somewhere private."_

_Zexion dropped his gaze and remained quiet, his neck heating with a flush of color at the look on his new friend's face. He didn't like verbal confrontations, not the type of unscripted back-and-forth that was taking place now at least. Instead, he preferred taking his time to research a topic. At least then he was armed with information he could use to counter any assertions he knew were unfounded, and deflect those which he felt simply uncomfortable about._

_This wasn't an academic debate though, and Axel wasn't an opponent, he reminded himself. It was easy to get distracted, because ... those piercing eyes. That seemingly unintentional, but so very salacious expression._

_God, he wanted..._

_"Do you trust me?"_

_Zexion's head snapped back up. "What?" The word sounded rough; indeed, it had been spoken far more harshly than he'd intended._

_Axel put his hands up, as if in surrender. "Hey now, it's just a question."_

_Zexion blinked, uncomprehending._

_"Do. You. Trust. Me." Axel repeated, enunciating each word, a tantalizing, self-confident smile reappearing at the corners of his mouth. Cocky. Maybe a little flirty._

_So hot._

_Slowly, as if mimicking the way his new friend had just spoken to him while self-consciously letting his white-blond hair drop concealingly over one eye, Zexion found himself responding with a nod._

**1a.m.**

He hadn't known what to expect when he'd accepted Axel's invitation to this club, hadn't technically expected Axel even to offer to take him when his friend had first mentioned it in the computer lab. Zexion wasn't the partying type, preferring academia to alcoholic all-nighters. In some ways, then, this was a wonderful, if surprising, dream, being here as Axel's date. He would have been thrilled to have just gone as friends.

Axel did seem to be feeling better, too. There was still the worrisome pallor of his skin, but Axel had been feeling sick all week, Zexion reminded himself. That he even had an interest in going out this weekend was a good sign, he assumed. The tattoos had certainly been a shock, but Zexion had absorbed the reality of Axel's new appearance as quickly as possible. In fact, they looked natural on the red-head, deep purple accentuating the sharp angles of his face and spiked hair like accessories. Just permanent ones.

_They'd met at eight o'clock at Axel's apartment, as previously agreed, Zexion hesitating before knocking on the door as he unwittingly remembered the circumstances surrounding the last time he'd been inside. It was always possible Axel would change his mind. Then he'd be left dressed up and looking ridiculous with no plans on a Saturday night, pretty much the norm for the studious senior. Except for the dressed up and looking ridiculous parts._

_But Axel had welcomed him in politely enough. The only uncomfortable moment had come after Axel offered Zexion a seat on the couch in his living room while he finished getting ready. This late in the year, it was already dark outside, so Zexion had leaned forward, reaching to turn on the nearest lamp to let some light into the room. "Don't turn on the light!" Axel had practically barked. Zexion pulled his hand back as if words could burn, staring with alarm at Axel out of his one visible eye._

_Axel regained his composure quickly. "It's burnt out," he'd said, his tone leveling out into a normal, conversational range. "But the electrical is bad. Don't want you to shock yourself or something."_

Pulling away from Zexion, Axel seemed to be surveying their surroundings, his body still undulating comfortably with the music. Zexion, on the other hand, slowed, his rhythm faltering the moment he lost contact with his dance partner.

"Drinks," Axel said, reaching for Zexion's hand, then pulling him away from the dance floor, and weaving his way around the entangled limbs of other patrons with relative ease. For Axel, the dancers seemed to part like rushing water around a stone. Zexion tried his best to keep pace, but kept finding himself distracted by the light, off-center feeling of already being a little tipsy.

They arrived at the bar, Axel smoothing the crisp white collar of his button-up shirt that peaked up above his charcoal sports jacket. Unconsciously, Zexion mimicked the action, then slid a finger under his shirt collar, wishing he'd opted out of the tie in favor of something a little more casual. The tie's material was unyielding, made it uncomfortable to swallow. Axel looked much more relaxed.

The red-head placed his order at the bar, then turned back to Zexion expectantly.

"Just water," Zexion said, forcing himself to speak loudly enough to be heard over the din of conversations and club music. Axel rolled his eyes, a good-natured expression on his face, but made the request.

"Heeeeeey, you made it."

Zexion watched, glassy-eyed, as Axel's friend Demyx appeared next to him at the bar, clasping the red-head in a brief hug that culminated with a light punch to Axel's shoulder. Then Demyx, too, turned and ordered a drink.

The bartender slid three glasses across the counter, and the pair paid for them before retrieving their drinks and sliding away, their spots immediately claimed by new customers, eager to place their own orders.

Finally noticing Zexion, Demyx raised his eyebrows just slightly in recognition. "Hey, dude. Good of you to come."

Wordlessly, Axel passed the glass of water Zexion had ordered over to him. There was a hint of tension in the movement that Zexion found himself studying carefully, his eyes moving from Axel to Demyx.

Oh, right. Axel hadn't been entirely comfortable being out about his relationships, Zexion remembered now.

At least not initially...

_He'd been so excited to have another class with Axel during the Spring semester of their sophomore year, even if it was just in a general ed requirement that didn't technically go toward his major. Public Speaking - a class dedicated to developing skills in verbal advocacy, persuasive oratory. Despite his inclination toward quiet reflection, Zexion had been enjoying the class, particularly given the company he was more frequently able to keep as a result of their mutual enrollment._

_He loved watching Axel speak on presentation days, because the red-head's style was so different from his own. Where Zexion built his position logically, presenting progressively stronger facts to support his assigned viewpoint, Axel was all passion, told a story with his words while appealing to the audience's visceral emotion, facts often be damned in the process._

_Both approaches were effective at times, but Zexion admired the way Axel always seemed to manage to infuse personal touches into his speeches, to make it seem like he was speaking directly to each and every one of his classmates._

_It was a hard concept for Zexion to wrap his mind around, that impassioned rhetoric, even when light on supporting evidence, could outpace logical reasoning when it came to the democratic environment the class based their debate evaluations around._

_He had still enjoyed spending time with Axel though, had expected the red-head would want to study together more often as a result._

_As the semester wore on though, Axel's availability to meet up after class waned considerably. Although he was no less friendly toward Zexion, there also felt like a chasm was quickly widening between them as Axel began to mingle with other classmates._

_One classmate in particular._

_Zexion remembered the day everything changed for him the way some recall traumatic events - in unreliable flashes of imagery and sensation. The weight of a full backpack. The flash of blond, then red hair exiting the classroom, the latter belonging to an arm attached to a hand waving a casual farewell in his direction._

_A hand that, when Zexion turned to follow a few paces behind, had just brushed subtly against the pale arm of a blond boy in their class, sliding down from elbow to checkered wristband before lightly, intimately giving the hand an affectionate squeeze._

"—on the fucking Friday before Christmas. Who does that?"

Zexion blinked, unsure if Demyx was expecting an answer to a question he'd only half heard. Another friend of Axel's had joined them during his distraction. Crossing his arms over his chest, Saix looked like he was just about to say something when Demyx raised a hand to stop him.

"I know, I know. College English professors do shit like that. Got it, dude."

The expression on Saix's formerly stoic face turned smug, but he remained quiet. Of all of Axel's friends, Zexion imagined Saix was the one he could relate to most, and the only one with whom he'd exchanged phone numbers. Much like Zexion, Saix wasn't particularly social though, so, apart from their mutual concern about Axel's wellbeing, the two had had very little opportunity or incentive to establish anything beyond superficially good rapport.

"Last English class this musician is ever taking though. English is some seriously useless bullshit."

"Considering it's only the foundation for our entire modern society..."

"I know, man, right?"

Saix shot Zexion an exasperated look as his irony ended up completely lost on Demyx. Zexion found himself chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep an amused smile at bay. Whatever positive expression was in the process of forming quickly vanished the moment Zexion's eyes returned to Axel. The red-head was looking off into the distance, maybe toward the dance floor, oblivious to the conversation taking place beside him, eyes vacant, a fathomless sea of haunted green. More concerning to Zexion though, was the slight quiver of the glass in Axel's right hand, as though he couldn't hold his drink completely steady.

Zexion noted Saix homing in on his friend as well, although he made no move to address or approach Axel, just raised his eyebrows at Zexion, as if expecting that was Zexion's job.

_Oh_.

Scooting a few steps closer to his date, Zexion cleared his throat. "Axel?"

No response. Zexion shot a helpless look toward Saix but received no guidance other than Demyx tipping his beer glass in acknowledgement before he took another appreciative chug of his drink.

Hesitantly, Zexion steeled himself to try again. "Hey, Axel?" He lay a tentative hand on Axel's forearm.

Axel turned, unfocused gaze settling on an unspecified part of Zexion's face. It took a moment for the glassy look to dissipate, for Axel's eyes to focus and meet Zexion's.

"Hmm?"

He seemed distracted. Or tired, perhaps.

"Are you alright?" Zexion asked.

Axel nodded, slowly, as if he was responding without truly understanding the question. As the music changed tempo, the red-head began moving his upper body in time to it, subtle, rhythmic motions as he raised the glass back to his lips, and finished it off in one long swallow. "Gonna get another drink," he said, slipping out of Zexion's loose grasp. "You want anything?"

Zexion was at a loss, unsure how to address something it didn't seem likely Axel would talk about anyway. "No, thank you," he said, shaking his head slightly to supplement his answer in response to the overpowering volume in the club.

"Back in a sec then."

Axel turned back toward the bar, quickly disappearing into the crowd, save for his distinctive red hair spikes that seemed to float incorporeally a head above above most of the other club-goers in the vicinity.

It was only then that Zexion realized he had been left to continue grappling for conversation topics with Axel's friends on his own.

**2a.m.**

They sat together at a small, cushioned bench along one of the club's back walls, a comfortable silence shared between the pair in this quieter area of the club. Axel's drink remained half-finished on a circular table in front of them, Zexion's glass of water long ago finished and taken away by one of the lounge's meandering servers. Axel had snaked his arm around Zexion's shoulders a few moments before without comment. It felt like an invitation to lessen the space between them.

Or maybe a challenge.

Acutely aware of added weight on his shoulders and how tenuous their current connection felt, Zexion found himself remaining stock still, even holding his breath until the room's sharp edges began to blur at the corners of his eyes.

It could be worse, he thought. He could still be awkwardly stuttering around Demyx and Saix.

"What do you think happens after we die?"

Zexion inhaled sharply, felt his stomach begin to drop, like he was at the crest of a roller coaster a split-moment before a nauseating descent.

Could be worse, indeed. He'd certainly spoken too soon.

Stealing a glance at Axel out of the corner of his eye, Zexion noted the contemplative expression on his friend's face.

What happens when we die? Zexion knew the physiological processes and how a number of them failed prior to death. He had taken science courses that had covered it as a subject.

But Axel hadn't asked what happened leading up to death; he'd said after.

"I don't think ..." But Zexion stopped himself from finishing the science-based explanation on the tip of his tongue.

Axel was looking at him with such intensity now, Zexion felt unable to continue holding the red-head's gaze. He dropped his head a little, directing his eyes toward the space between their feet on the floor, noting how much more relaxed Axel appeared with one leg crossed over the other than he felt with his feet inverted, toes pointing awkwardly toward one another. Maybe he should have had another drink after all…

"I'm not very religious," he said at last, glancing up at Axel from beneath thick strands of blue hair. Shoulders turned inward almost mimicking the position of his feet, everything about Zexion's current posture implied uncertainty. If body language could speak, Zexion's would be offering an apology for not giving Axel the answer he assumed the red-head wanted.

Axel's laughter was not what he'd been expecting. A pained expression, maybe anger at his inability to say something comforting about a potential afterlife. But not this, not this almost jovial response that vibrated down Axel's arm and into Zexion's body, from his shoulders into his chest.

"What?" he eventually asked, still unsure why what he'd said was so funny.

"Sorry," Axel rasped, seemingly forcing himself to stifle the last vestiges of amusement.

Zexion raised his one visible eyebrow, an expression inviting further explanation. He couldn't remember if he'd ever seen Axel laugh before, up until now would have been thrilled at the prospect. But something just didn't feel right about the reaction.

"It's just that you can see the gears turning in your head. It was a hypothetical question, not a test."

Zexion's shoulders went stiff under Axel's arm. It felt like he was being mocked.

Perhaps feeling Zexion's tension, Axel flexed his arm, drawing Zexion closer. "I was just curious to hear your thoughts, Zex. That's all."

"I...still don't know how to answer that." Zexion made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat.

Axel unwound his arm from Zexion's shoulders and reached for his drink. At the same time, a second red-head passed their table. Zexion looked up in surprise, recognizing Reno as he flashed them both a sly half-smile without comment on his way to the bar.

A moment later, Axel stood too, inclining his head in the direction Reno had just passed. "I'll be right back," he said.

Then, bending forward, Axel hovered just inches from Zexion's face. Zexion felt a jumpy thrill of nerves at the red-head's proximity. "You know, Zex," Axel said, his warm breath sweet with the scent of alcohol, "there doesn't always need to be a logical answer for everything. Some things defy scientific explanation." Zexion noted the knowing smile playing across Axel's lips for just a moment before Axel turned away. It was like he knew something Zexion didn't and found the realization an endearing one.

Then Axel was off in pursuit of his friend, leaving Zexion breathless in his wake. Breathless and wondering.

_They were studying together once again, or at least trying to make an effort to get a head-start on classes in their final fall semester as university students. The weather was still nice outside though, a lingering indian summer before the chill of fall took hold. Even Zexion was feeling restless being cramped up within the confines of his small dorm room._

_It was also obvious that Axel was still uncomfortable in a dormitory setting, even though Zexion's room was across campus from the dormitory where last year's incident with Roxas had occurred. The red-head's eyes had darted around warily whenever they encountered another student en route to Zexion's room._

_He'd wanted to squeeze Axel's hand, or offer some form of affectionate support, but Zexion couldn't risk his scholarship over violating school rules against same-sex co-mingling. Neither, technically, could Axel. Instead, they'd walked side-by-side down the corridor, Zexion feeling useless, Axel looking out of place. Unsure._

_And, after nearly 40 minutes of being just about the exact opposite of productive, Zexion felt that something had to give. He was pretty sure Axel hadn't even turned one page in his French textbook for the duration of their study session._

_"Let's go for a walk," he spoke up, his words a forcedly upbeat offering._

_Axel had looked up and quirked his head to one side, apparently bemused._

_"We're supposed to be studying."_

_"We are," Zexion agreed with a slight bob of his head, "but sometimes it's more helpful to take a break and regroup with fresh eyes than to push through and half-ass things."_

_Axel's eyebrows rose at his words. Zexion rarely swore, in any context. The unexpected word seemed to linger between them, its meaning taking a moment to fully settle._

_Finally, Axel nodded, acquiescing, began to pack up his things. Zexion too moved around his room, tidying and re-shelving his textbooks. He lingered at his bookshelf to scan the titles with affection. He'd come back to them soon, he promised himself. A study break would do them both some good._

_Zexion turned, only to find himself nearly face-to-face with Axel a mere handful of inches from him. He started, surprised at Axel's proximity._

_It was nothing compared to the surprise Zexion felt when two of his friend's long, slender fingers reached out, resting first at the base of his throat before rising, tilting his chin upward toward Axel's lips._

_In the moments after, Zexion would analyze the gesture, parsing its every nuance in an attempt to make sense of the unexpected occurrence. But for now, in that specific moment, he savored the newly exhilarating feeling of Axel's lips against his._

**3a.m.**

He sat alone for awhile, simply listening as the sounds around him blended together into a melange of indistinguishable noise. At first, he'd made a game out of seeing if he could spot Axel and Reno near the bar among the throng of people between their two disparate locations. The two seemed to be chatting amicably, two friends apparently catching up. When a third individual joined, Zexion sat up straighter, shaking his hair away from his covered eye to get a better view of the newcomer.

Black suit, blond hair. Zexion craned his neck, trying to get a better view of the young man. When the blond finally did turn, allowing Zexion a glimpse of his profile, it wasn't someone he recognized. Not from school, not as a person he'd ever seen Axel hanging out with before.

Zexion sunk back into his seat, eyes still on the trio, watching as Axel pulled what looked like a wallet out of his back pocket, exchanging bills for something in the blond's outstretched hand. It had been a subtle movement, partially blocked by Reno, and Zexion watched intently, not really understanding what he was seeing. Maybe he would be able to get a better idea of what was going on if Reno would move just a little to the...

"Hey, man. What's up?"

The bench's cushion shifted under the weight of the newcomer. Zexion turned his head, finding himself face-to-face with Demyx. Despite the new presence, Zexion found his eyes drawn back toward Axel, Reno, and the blond.

"Just waiting on Axel," he said distractedly.

Although he was turned away, Zexion could feel Demyx crane his neck in the trio's direction by the way the cushion shifted beneath him.

"I tell ya, man. Business majors have all the connections."

Zexion pursed his lips, forming a thin, consternated line, but didn't reply.

Apparently unfazed by Zexion's silence, Demyx forged on. "Guessing you're not a biz student, huh?"

"Philosophy and Statistics," Zexion answered, tone curt.

"Dude." Demyx jostled him lightly with one shoulder in such a way that Zexion couldn't tell if it had been purposeful or inadvertent. "That sounds..." he paused, as if searching for an appropriate word. "Really fucking boring."

Then, as an afterthought, Demyx added, "no offense, man."

"None taken." Allowing his hair to fall back into place over one eye, Zexion glanced at Demyx, then back toward the blond man Axel and Reno were still engaged in conversation with.

"Do you know who that is?"

Demyx leaned forward, brushing against Zexion's shoulder again. He sure didn't seem to mind physical contact or be bothered by invading others' personal space, Zexion noted. "Who, the blondie? Nah, never seen him before. He's probably a friend of Reno's."

"Ah." Zexion sat back, turning away from the group he'd been observing, and let out a long sigh. For a moment, he just sat, allowing himself to zone out a little. It was getting late, much later than he typically stayed up on weekends absent some compelling or imminent assignment deadline for school. He wondered how much longer they'd stay out before calling it a night.

The sound of Demyx clearing his throat was what ultimately brought him back to the present.

"So, you and Axel, huh?"

Zexion quirked an eyebrow. He had a good idea about what Demyx was asking, but also wasn't in the mood to explicate on a vague question. "Me and Axel what?"

Despite a practiced look of indifference, Zexion could sense Demyx's discomfort in the way he bounced his knee, in how he didn't seem to be able to hold Zexion's gaze for longer than a few quick glances at a time before his eyes darted elsewhere - anywhere - around the club.

"Like, you know. You're dating and shit now, right?"

"Well..." Zexion hesitated, debating between denial or outright snark. In the end, circumspection won out. "You'd have to ask Axel," he said, tone flat, neutral. It was easy enough to pull off when he actually had nothing confirmed on his end about the topic.

Demyx was still fidgeting, fingers thrumming the fabric on his thigh like he was plucking a string instrument. "I'm cool with it, ya know."

Zexion glanced back at him warily, but remained silent.

"Like, with Axel and dating guys and shit," Demyx said. "It's cool. Or, it's whatever. Yeah."

It was definitely _something_, Zexion thought. What that something was though, he couldn't rightly say. Instead, he just nodded to show he'd heard, then looked up and off toward the dance floor, allowing minutes to pass by in steady procession.

He knew how hesitant Axel had been to come out, given the circumstances surrounding his environmental and cultural upbringing. In a way, it was nice to hear that one of Axel's childhood friends was at least acknowledging the reality of his friend's life, even if Demyx did have an annoying way of going about it.

"You should tell Axel if you haven't yet," he said finally. "It'd probably mean a lot to him."

The seat cushion moved again as Demyx slid off of it and stood to take his leave. "Yeah, well, maybe I will sometime."

It was spoken thoughtfully, as though the idea hadn't occurred to him before. Of course not, Zexion thought, feeling a sting of irritation. When your relationships are considered normal, it's not something you ever have to think about.

When Zexion next looked up, it was in time to see that the three men had broken apart, leaving Reno leaning on the bar, chatting up the blond man, and Axel departing, another drink in hand, making a beeline back toward Zexion.

He watched the red-head's approach with an introspective eye, still wondering about the transaction that he'd just seen take place.

"Miss me?" Axel's voice was light, teasing. He didn't wait for a response before sliding a hand into his pocket and turning to face the dance floor, obscuring himself from Zexion's view as he popped something into his mouth, then tilted his head back, swallowing it down, glass in hand.

Zexion stood, approaching Axel cautiously, unsure how to ask about everything he'd just seen. "Everything alright?"

Sharp, green eyes looked back at him wordlessly. They were attached to an arm that reached out, offering Zexion his drink. "Have the rest," Axel said. "I'm not going to finish it."

Hesitantly, Zexion took the proffered glass, raising it slowly to his lips. "What is it?"

Axel shrugged. "Vodka something. Cranberry, maybe."

Zexion lifted the drink, taking an experimental sip. The mixer was tangy, probably cranberry, as Axel had guessed. It wasn't really his preference, but Zexion forced himself to finish it, before placing it back on a nearby table.

"Did you...just take something?"

The words were barely audible, Zexion felt, but Axel seemed to have heard them. Something flickered across his expression before it was wiped clean, replaced with a confident grin and an easy verbal deflection. "Let's dance some more."

Zexion felt his hand being grabbed and, before he could protest, Axel was pulling him back toward the dancing throngs.

Now he _really_ wished he'd had another full drink. Or three.

If it hadn't been for Axel's enthusiasm, for the constant touching as he danced, Zexion might have found a way to bow out. He was tired, and after three hours, dancing had lost its appeal. The people around him seemed to stifle and wear on his patience rather than encourage him to lose himself in the mindless pulsations of rhythm, as they'd done just a few hours ago. For a time, he simply focused on Axel, on his date's hands on his shoulders, then hips, as they helped him keep the rhythm of each new song track.

Zexion wasn't sure when Axel began muttering, or even whether it was for his ears or merely being spoken to himself. Axel was speaking so quietly, Zexion was only able to catch a smattering of words at a time.

"-didn't visit yest-"

"-feel him-"

"-much blood."

The last words hit Zexion straight to the chest, twisting like a knife between his ribs, seeking slow purchase to his very core.

"What?" he asked, his voice a sharp sound piercing through the more invariable tones of conversations and music around them.

Axel just blinked at him, eyes unfocused.

Zexion drew Axel closer for a moment squeezing him to redirect his attention, then tried to ask his question again, this time more clearly.

"What did you just say about blood?"

"I didn't do it to myself."

Zexion looked at Axel, not understanding. Didn't do what?

Axel separated himself from Zexion just enough to splay his long fingers in a starburst pattern across his abdomen, over the spot he'd been bleeding on the day Zexion had come to his apartment to check in.

"I didn't do it, and he didn't visit last night."

"I...don't know what you're saying, Axel." Not that he couldn't hear. He just didn't understand the connecting theme between the first part of the sentence and the last. At all.

Axel's attention kept jumping, from Zexion to the crowd, then back to Zexion, his hand flexing over his abdomen, then dipping into his pocket where it stayed, seemingly grasping something, fingers forming a slight protrusion at one hip. "_I_ didn't do it, Zex. That's what I'm trying to say."

He seemed to be expecting a response from Zexion, almost awaiting one, although Zexion wasn't sure what Axel wanted him to say. Surely, Axel didn't expect him to lie about his own observations about what had happened that day.

"Okay," he finally said instead. It was offered as an acknowledgement that he'd heard Axel but kept purposefully neutral, absent of any indication that he believed the assertion.

He wasn't sure what Axel had actually been seeking in a response from him, but Axel slowed his movements then, swaying with a little less coordination than he'd displayed earlier in the evening as his eyes drifted off into the crowd. He started murmuring again, but with his face turned away, Zexion only caught three, out of place words. "...he didn't come..."

A dancing pair jostled into Zexion, momentarily blocking the space in front of him as they drunkenly moved on through. The next time Zexion could look up, view unobstructed, he realized he was alone on the dance floor. Axel had vanished.

**4a.m.**

He hadn't found Axel on the dance floor, despite wandering its perimeter for some time, gingerly sidestepping dancing, writhing forms in his path. Axel also didn't appear to be at the bar, or back by the sitting area along the far wall. Eventually, Zexion resigned himself to keep looking albeit less actively as he made his way over to the bathroom area for the first time that evening.

The restrooms consisted of two gender-neutral single stall rooms. The line was long for both of them, but with sharp eyes, Zexion homed in on the queue that seemed to be moving more quickly, and took his place at the back of the line, eyes still scanning the club for Axel on the off-chance that he might catch a glimpse of him.

"This is total bullshit. I'm _this_ close to switching goddamn lines. At least that one's moving," Zexion heard someone in the other line say to his companion as he passed them when his turn for the stall finally came. He was in and out quickly, vaguely aware that the speaker in the other line was still waiting, arms crossed over his chest, looking irate.

"C'mon, man. There are others waiting..."

Zexion let the complainant's voice pass out of auditory range as he meandered back over to the bar. They were no longer serving alcohol this late, but maybe, just maybe, Axel had returned to look for him there too.

As the bar came into view, Zexion noticed a red-head, and momentarily thought he had guessed correctly. He had only another split second to feel some form of relief before the guy turned and Zexion's hopes dropped back down to nil. There, lounging comfortably near the bar, flirting with two college girls, was… Reno.

Damn bright red hair dye all to hell, Zexion thought, too frustrated to find any discomfort in the realization that he'd sworn not once but twice, in the same sentence.

If Reno noticed him, he made no indication. Then again, the girls he was with were so close to him, touching the red-head subtly as they laughed at what he was saying, that Zexion supposed he wouldn't be particularly observant himself in a similar situation.

He scanned the club again, the exhaustion and confusion of his friend's disappearance blending together into a perfect, rising desperation.

Still nothing.

He didn't particularly want to bother Reno, but it was possible Axel's friend might have seen something Zexion had missed. With a determination borne of alcohol and worry, Zexion made his way over to Reno.

Reno didn't look up until Zexion was almost right in front of him. When he did, his eyes glittered under the strobe lights with a surprising level of lucidity. Odd, Zexion mused. Given the drinks, the drugs being passed around, and his knowledge of Reno's own background skirting the law, he assumed the red-head would be halfway under a table right now, succumbing to the effects of inebriation, most likely with a girl along for the ride. Or two, even.

Instead, Reno tilted his head, acknowledging Zexion's presence. There was an intelligent, fox-like quality to the man's gaze. Not that Axel's other friends weren't intelligent; it was just that Zexion had never seen such a rawly calculating quality in Demyx. Not even Saix. Reno, on the other hand, looked like he was assessing his surroundings, even with two females practically hanging off of him.

"What's up, yo? Liking the party?"

"I was actually wondering if you'd seen Axel," Zexion said, opting to be forthright and hopefully avoid any additional smalltalk. He'd had more than enough for one night in that regard.

"Haven't seen him for awhile," Reno said. "As you can see..." He paused as one of the girls stood on her tiptoes, nuzzling her mouth against the base of his neck. "I've been a little busy."

Zexion turned away, both out of frustration and also due to mild embarrassment. It was so easy for these people, with their _normative_ relations, to flaunt themselves openly. Sometimes the realization hit harder than others. He'd always had to watch his own behavior, worry about things like the conservative school board meting out discipline for those engaging in what they deemed "inappropriate relations between members of the same sex." Or, off-campus, there was the added concern of someone not taking kindly to even the most innocent of affectionate gestures, to holding hands or a chaste kiss good night, then reacting violently.

Reno didn't have to worry about any of that, and in a short, temporary moment of anger, Zexion decided he hated the young man for it.

He hadn't really been searching the crowd this time, had just been letting his eyes wander over the various heads in the room, eyes trailing from the seats in one corner, then back to the dance floor and over to the bathroom, when he saw it.

Saw them, actually.

Walking out of the bathroom area, passing within thirty feet of the bar where Zexion stood, strolled the blond that Zexion had seen earlier, the guy who had been speaking with both Axel and Reno. By his side walked a shorter, smaller person, features obscured by the density of the crowd. The only reason Zexion even noticed the second individual was because of how closely the boy's hair matched the taller blond's beside him.

Steeling himself, Zexion began to move toward the pair, determined to get some answers, maybe even discover Axel's whereabouts. He had just about cut the distance in half when he felt someone's hand on his shoulder, a vice-like grip grinding him to a sudden halt.

Zexion whirled around, forcing down the urge to lash out at the unwelcome physical contact.

Reno again. What on Earth did he want now? It seemed like Axel's friends were always invading his space. Ironic, considering how distant they'd all been when Axel had first come out, Zexion thought savagely.

"Let go of me," he said, voice low as his eyes drifted back to the quickly departing duo he'd set his sights on.

Reno matched his gaze, eyes narrowing into slits. His own voice, however, was level, calm.

"I wouldn't recommend it, yo."

In the time it'd taken Zexion to exchange two sentences with Reno, the two guys had vanished out of sight, beyond the club's entranceway.

He shrugged out of Reno's grip. "I'm _trying_ to find Axel," he said, tone taking on a dangerous, angry edge. "You were unable to help, but it's possible that that man might..."

Reno cut him off with a short laugh. "You really have no idea, do ya, kid?"

Zexion shot Reno an irate look. Kid? They were the same _fucking_ age. What an utterly...pretentious...

Reno ignored the look and continued. "You don't wanna get involved with Cloud. Trust me. I told Axel the same thing earlier. It's one thing to take a hit from me once in awhile, but that guy runs the entire ring over on-"

He never got a chance to finish his sentence. At that moment, the music died and the club's lights went out, plunging everyone into a long minute of pitch darkness. It was punctuated by feminine shrieks of surprise before the lights came back on in a muted daylight yellow. Around them, people turned, confused by the drastic change in atmosphere and lighting.

No one initially seemed to know what had happened. Zexion turned to Reno, a look of alarm on his face, but Reno merely offered an indifferent shrug, apparently unconcerned. Eventually, people around them began to murmur, a few pointing off into the distance, where several bulky men in dark attire were walking briskly from the entranceway further on into the club.

Zexion squinted, trying to see if the blond Reno had called Cloud was among them.

"Looks like someone started something the bouncers want finished," Reno commented, offhandedly. Zexion opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat as he realized where they were all headed.

_"This is total bullshit. I'm this close to switching goddamn lines. At least that one's moving."_

In the distance, the soft wail of sirens could be heard, was steadily building to a nauseating crescendo outside the club's walls.

_"What do you think happens after we die?"_

Zexion felt himself go cold as he began to make the connection. "No..."

Reno shot him a perturbed look, oblivious to the soft word Zexion had just uttered. "You don't look so good, yo. Might wanna consider calling it a night."

_"You know, Zex," Axel said, his warm breath sweet with the scent of alcohol…_

The club's entrance opened again, bathing the room in an alternating pattern of red and blue light from an ambulance that had just arrived. As two paramedics entered, walking hurriedly toward the bathroom area, Zexion took a shuddering breath in. This was not the time to fall apart. This just wasn't...

_"...there doesn't always need to be a logical answer for everything. Some things defy scientific explanation."_

Without another word, Zexion began to push through the crowd, toward the bathroom, to Axel. And, for the first time in his life, he hoped to god his reliable, comforting scientific certainties would ultimately end up being wrong.


	9. Epilogue: The Price He Paid

**A/N**: I actually wrote this final snippet before finishing the penultimate chapter. I don't usually like writing out of order but I was having a rough day and I just needed to get it out before it ended up breaking me down, and tearing me apart completely. My best childhood friend passed away a year and a half ago. She's not the first friend I've lost so permanently (this fic was inspired by a different instance initially, but in the last few years, it's been adopted by other agonies, making it a hybrid of my experiences), but it was the most excruciating, as she'd been ill for quite some time. Her birthday just came and went a few days ago. Every February, we were the same age for three whole days, before she surpassed me and I felt like I was spending the rest of the year trying to catch up with her, a perpetual game of tag based on the arbitrariness of age. This is the first year I can now say I'm older than her, and it's such an odd, unfamiliar feeling. It aches.

She had always loved to travel, to learn languages and collect new experiences (and friends). One of my favorite photos was of her in her Choi Kwang Do uniform, leg outstretched in a side kick, toes pointed at the Eiffel Tower off in the distance during her study abroad semester in Paris. She was small, at hardly five feet and 90lbs, but if anyone could topple monuments, it was my dear, much loved Be. That was just the type of person she was: athletic, good-natured, and mischievous.

We released her ashes into the Atlantic Ocean last year, hoping they'd travel to all the places she'd loved to visit, and to others she never got the opportunity to see. I wrote this final section thinking of her, and thinking of us and all the moments we shared. In my memories, at least, my dear friend remains healthy and smiling, joyful. Perennial.

* * *

><p><em>...will be remembered for the price he paid.<em>

No one warns you how much a slow death hurts. It's not peaceful, at least not in the initial stages. Bent on survival, your body fights for every heartbeat, every raged, rasping breath.

And, when no timely aid arrives to repair it, allocation - the precisely calculated shutdown of functions not essential to keep on, quite simply, _existing_.

This is probably something Zexion would find interesting. To me, it's agonizingly arduous, especially after how long I've waited.

Eventually, you become aware of blood. In the beginning it smells fuckin' terrible, sour and nauseating, a copper tang that permeates everything in its general vicinity. It's almost as bad as the pain.

Almost.

After all, it wasn't the blood that ultimately made me lose consciousness the first time.

~ o ~ o ~

I wake to pounding, not at my temples, but against something solid, impermeable, an erratic rapping. Then yelling. Indistinct, insignificant.

Cold. All I can think about is how I'm so fucking cold. November is a godawful, unforgiving month.

_And then there was nothing. Nothing but dark, suffocating silence._

~ o ~ o ~

_Strange dreams. He'd been having such strange dreams._

I wake to movement, to my head gently being lifted, shoulders cradled in another's arms. I want to help, to hold my own weight, but find the task too laborious. Even opening my eyes is a struggle, requires intense concentration.

_Axi…_

I see blond hair. Yellow, as intense as sunlight. A familiar shriek echoes in the back of my mind. It's softer, muffled by the passage of days, more memory than real-time sense.

I miss you, I want to cry, but all I can manage is a low, unintelligible tone.

_And his eyes. If there was one place Axel wanted to lose himself in forever…_

Such blue eyes. Then, a smile, one I never thought I'd see again. Before I can make sense of it, I feel my arm lifted, uselessly limp, irreparably red.

_I remember the blood, just not whether it was his or my own._

There's pressure on my wrist. Blinding white pain. A pathetic whimper reaches my ears and it takes a prolonged moment for my stagnant thoughts to connect the sound to my own rasping voice.

"Shh," the familiar voice says.

Something is being lifted to my lips, and my mind flashes back to yesterday afternoon. The blond, the store. A beveled ceramic antique.

Weakly, pathetically, I try to turn my head away from the taste of blood.

The pressure on my wrist returns, this time on both arms. From far away, I hear myself let out a soft, strangled sob, then close my eyes as the tremors travel through my body in waves.

_I remember unspoken pleas._

"Shh," he quiets me again.

"Soon now. Soon."

Then, true to form, I'm alone again, because he always ends up leaving me first.

~ o ~ o ~

The next voices I hear sound far away, but urgent. I don't bother to open my eyes this time. Only one voice matters, and he's already gone from me.

Soon now. Soon.

This is not how I imagined my life, let alone my death.

I'm hovering between the physical and an intangible something beyond, when…

_Through his feverish gaze, a gasp gave him pause._

_"Axel," Zexion said, his visible eye wide with shock. "You're…"_

"Bleeding," I say, and attempt to offer a smile. Everything's a circle, and we keep coming around, round, round.

I hear a sob, and this time it's not my own, crack my eyes just a sliver and see blue.

Blue, blue, as fathomless as the sky at dusk. Blue, blue, but I can no longer distinguish between hair or eyes.

Again, I'm being lifted, this time rising on thin fabric between two strangers. It feels like I'm still dancing, limbs moving in small, erratic motions as my vision becomes an unfocused blur. I crane my neck in search of the voice, that desperate, wretched tone that keeps repeating my name. He should at least know he deserved so much more than I could ever emotionally give.

I want to tell him not to worry, that this is a beginning rather than any form of end. I want to tell him his science is flawed and fallible, that I know this now with certainty.

We're moving so quickly though, passing others, a flash of red hair, then familiar facial scars. Someone nearby reminds me of songs played with passion on a secondhand guitar.

Speaking is too much effort, so instead I just offer a final parting thought as the cold night air turns inward to engulf my tired body, my broken soul.

_I'll come back for you_, I think, hoping he'll know. _Be patient_, I silently explain. _I'll come soon. One day ...shh._

Right now, I just want … simply need …a little more time to…

Grieve.


End file.
